URAI 


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Lucian  Swift  Kirtland 


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SAMURAI  TRAILS 


FOREIGNERS 


SAMURAI  TRAILS 

A  Chronicle  of  Wanderings  on  the 
Japanese  High  Road 


BY 

LUCIAN  SWIFT  KIRTLAND 

ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  SiBJP  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1918, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1918,  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHER 
PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMERICA 


TO 

H.  W    J. 


2207° 


fW( 


FOREWORD 

FROM   THE    ALHAMBRA   TO    KYOTO 

IT  was  spring  and  it  was  Spain.  Sunset 
brought  the  white-haired  custodian  of  the  Court 
of  the  Lions  to  the  balcony  overhanging  my  foun- 
tain. His  blue  coat  bespoke  officialdom  but  his 
Andalusian  lisp  veiled  this  suggestion  of  com- 
pulsion. His  wishes  for  my  evening's  happiness, 
nevertheless,  were  to  be  interpreted  as  a  request 
for  my  going.  The  Alhambra  had  to  be  locked  up 
for  the  night. 

I  was  lying  outstretched  on  the  stones  of  Lin- 
daroxa's  Court  with  my  head  against  a  pillar. 
The  last  light  of  the  April  sun  had  scaled  the 
walls  and  was  losing  itself  among  the  top-most 
bobbing  oranges  of  Lindaroxa's  tree.  To  dream 
there  must  be  to  have  one's  dreams  come  true, 
some  inheritance  from  Moorish  alchemy. 

Despite  the  setting,  I  was  dreaming  nothing 
of  the  Alhambra,  not  even  of  Lindaroxa.  I  was 
thinking  of  a  friend  of  irresponsible  imagination 

but  of  otherwise  responsibility.    I  was  wondering 

vii 


viii  FOREWORD 

where  he  could  be.  On  the  previous  summer  we 
had  walked  the  highroads  of  England  and  I  had 
found  him  a  most  satisfying  disputatious  com- 
panion of  enquiring  mind.  We  had  talked  some- 
what of  a  similar  wandering  in  Japan,  a  vagabond- 
age free  from  cicerones  and  away  from  the  show 
places,  but  although  we  had  treated  this  variety 
of  imagining  with  due  respect,  we  had  never  an 
idea  of  transmuting  it  into  action. 

The  Alhambra  had  to  be  locked  up  for  the 
night.  The  custodian  bowed  low,  and  I  bowed 
low,  in  unhurried  obligation  to  dignity,  and  I 
walked  away  to  my  inn.  There  I  found  a  cable- 
gram from  America.  It  read: 

"  Can  meet  you  Kyoto  June  two  months'  walk- 
ing." 

It  was  signed  by  the  other  dreamer  of  the  Two- 
S worded  Trails. 

I  cabled  back,  "  yes."  The  message  gone,  I 
awoke  to  the  reality  of  time  and  space.  All  Eu- 
rope, Siberia,  Manchuria,  and  Korea  spread  out 
their  distances  on  the  map  and  were  lying  between 
me  and  the  keeping  of  my  promise. 

It  was  in  the  darkness  of  midnight  and  it  was 
raining  when  I  stepped  off  the  express  to  the 
Kyoto  platform.  For  a  month  the  world  had 


FOREWORD  ix 

been  revolving  giddily  under  railway  carriage 
succeeding  railway  carriage  until  it  seemed  that 
the  changing  peoples  outside  the  car  windows 
could  be  taking  on  their  ceaseless  variety  only 
through  some  illusion  within  my  own  eyes. 

I  stood  for  a  while  in  the  shelter  of  the  over- 
hanging, dripping  roof  of  the  Kyoto  station 
awaiting  some  providential  development,  but  prob- 
ably the  local  god  of  wayfarers  did  not  judge  my 
plight  worry  of  special  interposition.  Finally  I 
found  a  drenched  youth  in  a  stupor  of  sleep  be- 
tween the  shafts  of  his  'ricksha.  His  dreams  were 
evidently  depressing,  for  he  awoke  with  appre- 
ciation for  the  escape.  We  bent  over  his  paper 
lantern  and  at  last  coaxed  a  spurt  of  flame  from 
a  box  of  unspeakable  matches.  (The  government 
decrees  that  matches  must  be  given  away  and  not 
sold  by  the  tobacconists.  Japan's  spirit  of  the  art 
of  giving  should  not  be  judged  by  this  item.  The 
generosity  is  in  the  acceptance  of  the  matches.) 
I  climbed  into  the  'ricksha  and  stowed  myself 
away  under  the  hood,  naming  the  inn  which  had 
been  appointed  by  cablegram  for  the  meeting 
place.  The  boy  pattered  along  in  his  straw  san- 
dals at  full  speed  through  the  mist,  shouting 
hoarsely  at  the  corners.  At  last  he  dug  his  heels 
into  the  pebbles  and  stopped,  and  pounded  at 


x  FOREWORD 

the  inn  door  until  someone  came  and  slid  back 
the  bolts. 

Yes,  the  clerk  answered  my  question,  a  guest 
with  the  name  of  Owre  had  arrived  that  day  at 
noon  and  had  sat  up  for  me  until  midnight.  He 
had  left  word  that  I  should  be  taken  to  his  room. 
Thus  I  was  led  through  dark  halls  until  we  came 
to  the  door.  We  pushed  it  open  and  called  into 
the  darkness.  Back  came  a  welcome — somewhat 
sleepy.  The  clerk  struck  a  match  and  I  dis- 
covered my  vagabond  companion  crawling  out 
from  under  the  mosquito  netting  of  his  four- 
poster.  Between  us  we  had  covered  twenty  thou- 
sand miles  for  that  handshake. 

"  It's  the  moment  to  be  highly  dramatic," 
he  said  with  an  eloquent  flourish  of  his  pajam'd 
arm,  and  he  sent  the  clerk  for  a  bottle  of  native 
beer.  It  came,  warm  and  of  infinite  foam,  but 
we  managed  to  find  a  few  drops  of  liquid  at  the 
bottom  with  which  to  drink  a  toast.  The  toast 
was  to  "The  Road." 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Quest  for  O-Hori-San  ....  19 

H.     The  Ancient  Tokaido 26 

III.  "  I  Have  Eaten  of  the  Furnace  of  Hades  "  56 

IV.  The  Miles  of  the  Rice  Plains       ...  72 
V.     The  Ancient  Nakescendo      .        .        .        .104 

VI.     The  Adventure  of  the  Bottle  Inn       .        .  127 

VII.     The  Ideals  of  a  Samurai     .        .        .        .  157 

VIII.     Many  Queries 173 

XI.     The  Inn  at  Karaa-Suwa        .        .        .        .188 

X.     The  Guest  of  the  Other  Tower  Room       .  200 

XI.     Antiques,  Temples,  and  Teaching  Charm  .  212 

XH.     Tsuro-Matsu  and  Hisu-Matsu     .        .        .  223 

XIII.  A  Log  of  Incidents 243 

XIV.  Concerning  Inn  Maids  and  Also  the  Elixir 

of   Life 263 

XV.     The  End  of  the  Trail 271 

XVI.     Beach   Combers      .        .       w       .        .        .  287 


zi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Foreigners  " Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Kyoto  Back  Streets 28 

The  First  Rest  Spot  of  the  Second  Day  .  .  48 
The  Kori  (Ice)  Flag  of  the  "Adventure"  .  .  84 
We  Came  Upon  a  Wistful  Eyed,  Timid  Fairy  of 

the    Mountains 128 

"In  the  Fourteenth  Year  of  My   Youth  I  Took 
the  Vow   that  My   Life   Should   Be  Lived   in 
Honouring  the  Holy  Images  of  Buddha  "        .      142 
We  Decided  to  Take  the  Most  Attractive  Turn, 

Right  or  Wrong 168 

Is  it  Idolatrous  to  Worship  Fuji  I   ....      184 
The  Boys  Must  Be  Taught  Loyalty;  the  Daugh- 
ters of  the  Empire  Must  Be  Taught  Grace   .      226 

We  Bought  Paper  Umbrellas 248 

O-Shio-San  in  the  Bosen-ka  Inn  Garden        .         .      278 
Slowly  the  Harbour  of  Yokohama  Was  Curtained 
and  Disappeared  Behind  a  Brightly  Glistening 
Mist  290 


ziii 


SAMURAI  TRAILS 


SAMURAI  TRAILS 


THE  QUEST  FOR  O-HORI-SAN 

AFTER  our  melodramatic  toast  of  the  night  be- 
fore it  would  have  been  only  orthodox  to  have  said 
good-bye  to  our  Occidental  inn  at  sunrise  and 
to  have  sought  the  road.  But  we  had  a  call  to 
make.  The  fulfilling  of  the  obligation  proved  to 
be  momentous.  There  is  one  never-to-be-broken 
rule  for  the  foreigner  in  the  Orient:  He  must  con- 
sider himself  always  to  be  of  extreme  magnitude 
in  the  perspective,  and  that  any  action  which  con- 
cerns himself  is  momentous.  If  Asia  had  pos- 
sessed this  supreme  self  -concern,  she  might  to-day 
be  playing  political  chess  with  colonies  in  Europe. 
The  details  of  our  call  are  thus  set  down  in  faith- 
ful sequence. 

"  If  ever  you  come  to  Japan,  be  sure  to  look  me 
up."  This  had  been  the  farewell  of  Kenjiro  Hori 
when  he  said  good-bye  to  his  university  days  in 

19 


20  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

America.  Hori's  affection  for  America  had  had 
the  vigour  which  marks  the  vitality  of  Japanese 
loyalty.  He  had  always  singled  out  our  better 
qualities  with  gratifying  disregard  for  opposites. 

We  were,  however,  without  an  address  except 
that  we  thought  he  might  be  in  Kobe;  but  it 
seemed  unreasonable  that  after  travelling  all  the 
way  to  the  Antipodes  we  should  then  be  baulked 
by  a  mere  detail.  In  the  faith  of  this  logic  we 
took  an  early  train  to  Kobe,  and  the  first  sign 
that  we  saw  read:  "Information  Bureau  for 
Foreigners." 

The  man  in  uniform  peering  out  of  the  box 
window  was  so  smiling  and  so  evidently  desirous 
of  being  helpful  that  whether  we  had  needed 
information  or  not,  it  would  have  been  exceedingly 
discourteous  not  to  have  asked  some  question. 
We  inquired  the  address  of  Dr.  Kenjiro  Hori. 
The  information  dispenser  thumbed  all  his  heap 
of  directories.  He  appeared  to  be  unravelling 
his  thread  by  a  most  intricate  system  of  cross 
reference.  Then  he  looked  at  us  with  another 
smile. 

"  Did  you  find  it  ?  "  we  asked. 

"  I  find  no  address,"  said  he,  "  but  I  tell  'ricksha 
boys  take  you.  Ah,  so !  " 

Such    a   challenge    was    impossible    to    refuse. 


THE  QUEST  FOR  O-HORI-SAN      21 

We  got  into  the  'rickshas  and  the  men  bent  their 
necks  and  jerked  the  wheels  into  motion  with 
strange  disregard  for  any  bee-line  direction  to 
any  particular  place.  It  appeared  to  be  a  most 
casual  choice  whether  we  took  one  corner  or 
another.  This  rambling  went  on  for  some  time. 
Suddenly  they  held  back  on  the  shafts  and  said: 
"Here!"  We  were  at  the  door  of  a  wholesale 
importing  house.  No  one  within  had  ever  heard 
of  O-Hori-san.  When  we  came  back  to  the 
street  with  this  information  the  coolies  seemed 
not  at  all  surprised.  They  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders at  our  mild  expostulation  as  if  implying,  "  Of 
course,  if  he  isn't  here  he  must  be  some  other 
place." 

After  another  panting  dash  they  stopped  and 
said:  "  Here!  "  It  was  obvious  without  inquiring 
that  Hori  could  not  be  in  that  shallow,  open- 
fronted  shop.  "  Very  well,"  the  shoulders  an- 
swered us  and  on  we  went.  We  stopped  for 
another  time  with  the  now  familiar  "  Here!  "  We 
had  traversed  half  Kobe.  Our  futile  questions 
seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  next  step. 
Strangely,  instead  of  having  lost  our  faith  it  had 
been  growing  that  by  some  system  the  coolies 
were  following  the  quest.  At  this  stop,  when 
we  looked  inside  the  entrance,  there  was  the  name 


22  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

of  Dr.  Kenjiro  Hori  on  a  brass  plate.  We  walked 
up  the  stairs  and  rang  a  bell  and  inquired  for  Dr. 
Hori  of  the  boy  who  came. 

We  asked  him  to  tell  O-Hori-san  that  O-Owre- 
san  and  O-Kirt-land-san  would  like  to  see  him. 
Of  all  arrangements  of  consonants  (w's,  r's,  k's, 
and  1's)  to  harass  the  Japanese  tongue,  our  two 
names  stand  in  the  first  group  of  the  first  list  of 
impossibles.  We  could  overhear  the  distressed 
boy's  struggle  with  "  O-Owre-san."  I  was  im- 

9/  ^3^J 

pressed  that  from  that  instant  Alfred  Owre  became 
"  O-Owre-san."  It  was  a  secular  confirmation  too 
positive  to  be  gainsaid. 

Small  wonder  then  that  Hori  had  not  the  slight- 
est idea  who  was  waiting  at  the  door;  but  his  sur- 
prise, when  he  appeared,  was  so  smoothed  out  and 
repressed  in  his  formal  samurai  welcome  that  we 
were  tempted  into  moody  thinking  that  through 
some  psychosis  the  frightful  slaughter  of  our 
names  had  destroyed  his  remembrance  of  our 
rightful  personalities. 

Friends  appeared  and  were  introduced  with 
ceremonial  formalism.  We  sat  in  a  circle  and 
sipped  iced  mineral  water.  Hori  inquired  po- 
litely of  our  plans  and  then  sat  back  in  silence 
behind  his  thick  spectacles.  The  icy  tempera- 
ture of  the  mineral  water  was  the  temperature 


THE  QUEST  FOR  O-HORI-SAN      23 

of  the  verve  of  the  conversation.     The  dav  itself 

9f 

was  rather  hot;  a  damp,  depressing  heat.  I  tried 
to  fan  off  the  flies  which  stuck  tenaciously  with 
sharp,  sudden  buzzings. 

Of  all  varieties  of  uncreative  activity,  the  ana- 
lyzing of  moods  brings  the  least  compensation — 
but  that  does  not  mean  avoidance.  During  that 
hour  a  disturbing  remoteness  to  everyday  reality 
rasped  as  if  something  untoward  had  been  con- 
jured up.  O-Owre-san  and  I  talked,  trying  to 
explain  our  plans.  We  repeated  that  we  hadn't 
any  desire  to  visit  the  great  places,  but  our  say- 
ing so  sounded  childish  and  impertinent, — very 
tiresome.  A  dignified  ancient  kept  forcing  us 
into  a  position  of  defence.  To  put  us  out  of 
ease  was  his  most  remote  wish,  of  course,  but  he 
did  insist  with  patriotic  eloquence  (suggesting 
a  Calif ornian  defending  his  climate)  that  the 
show  places  deserved  to  be  paid  respect.  We 
insisted  that  our  tourist  consciences  had  been 
appeased  long  before,  and  that  we  now  intended 
to  run  away  from  foreign  hotels,  from  the  Hon- 
ourable Society  of  Guides,  from  the  Imperial 
Welcome  Society,  from  all  cicerones,  and  from 
all  centres  where  the  customs  and  conveniences 
of  our  Western  variety  of  civilization  are  so  cher- 
ishingly  catered  to. 


24  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

"  But,"  interrupted  Hori,  "  you  do  not  under- 
stand. You  will  find  no  one  prepared  for  for- 
eigners. You  will  find  not  one  word  of  English. 
You  must  not  do  such  a  thing."  With  Japan  so 
earnestly  providing  the  proper  accommodations 
at  the  proper  places,  it  was  not  playing  the  game, 
so  to  speak,  to  refuse. 

When  an  argument  of  policy  is  between  an 
amateur  and  an  expert  (particularly  so  when 
between  a  foreigner  and  a  native)  the  tyro  can 
afford  to  compromise  on  not  one  atom  of  his 
ignorance.  If  he  concedes  at  all  he  will  be  over- 
whelmed completely.  We  refused  Hori's  warn- 
ings, remaining  impervious  to  any  advice  which 
did  not  further  our  plan  of  action  exactly  as 
outlined. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Hori,  "  I  shall  have 
to  go  with  you." 

Under  the  excitement  of  talking  plans  Hori 
slipped  out  of  his  formalism,  and  became  exactly 
his  old-time  self.  Until  the  following  week,  how- 
ever, he  would  not  be  able  to  turn  his  solicitude 
into  action.  He  did  not  lose  his  cataclysm  of 
positive  doubt  over  entrusting  the  Empire  in  our 
hands,  but  as  there  was  no  escape  from  leaving 
us  to  our  own  devices  for  those  days  (and  we 


THE  QUEST  FOR  O-HORI-SAN      25 

made  known  a  certain  vanity  in  our  own  re- 
sources) he  at  length  agreed  to  meet  us  in  Nagoya, 
and  we  planned  a  route  which  would  bring  us  there 
with  our  rendezvous  at  the  European  hotel. 


II 

THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO 

IT  was  the  morning  of  our  last  sleep  in  seiyo-jin 
beds.  I  dreamed  that  I  was  still  dreaming  in 
Lindaroxa's  Court.  O-Owre-san  shook  my  four- 
poster  and  begged  me  to  consider  the  matter-of- 
factness  of  rolling  out  from  my  mosquito  netting 
and  taking  a  bite  of  cold  breakfast.  The  sensuous 
breeze  of  the  East,  which  comes  for  a  brief  hour 
with  the  first  light  of  the  sun,  was  blowing  the 
curtains  back  from  the  window.  I  was  willing 
to  consider  the  getting  up  and  the  eating  of  the 
breakfast  and  I  was  willing  to  call  both  endeavours 
matter-of-fact,  but  the  imagination  that  it  was 
to  be  the  first  day  on  the  highroad  belonged  to 
no  such  mere  negativity  of  living. 

I  began  packing  and  was  inspired  to  improvise 
a  wonderful  ballad.  It  was  concerned  with  the 
beginning  of  trails.  O-Owre-san  was  busy  and 
was  uninterested  in  my  stanzas.  He  might  very 
well  have  served  genius  by  taking  them  down. 
The  all-inclusiveness  embraced,  I  remember,  a 
master  picture  of  cold  dawn  in  the  Rockies,  with 

26 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  27 

pack  ponies  snorting,  biting,  and  bucking;  and  I 
sang  blithely  of  every  other  sort  of  first  morning 
start,  embroidering  the  memories  of  their  roaring 
language  and  their  unpackable  dunnage.  But  in 
Japan  one  does  not  roar — or  one  roars  alone — 
and  I  had  known  just  what  was  going  into  my 
rucksack  for  weeks. 

Our  route  was  to  be  the  famed  Tokaido,  that 
ancient  road  running  between  the  great  capitals 
of  the  West  and  the  East,  from  Kyoto  to  Tokyo. 
We  were  to  find  its  first  stretch  at  the  turn  to 
the  left  when  we  should  cross  the  bridge  over  the 
Kama-Gowa.  This  river  cuts  Kyoto  between 
two  long  rows  of  houses  built  on  piles  and  over- 
hanging its  waters.  In  summer  the  stream  is  most 
domesticated  and  gives,  charitably,  a  large  area 
of  its  dry  bed  as  a  pleasure  ground  for  fetes,  but 
when  the  snows  are  melting  back  in  the  hills  in 
the  days  of  spring  and  blossoms,  it  becomes  tem- 
peramental and  the  peasants  say  that  it  has  drunk 
unwisely  of  sake.  It  is  then  that  the  water  winks 
rakishly  and  splashes  the  tips  of  its  waves  at 
pretty  geishas,  who  come  to  scatter  cherry  petals 
on  the  current.  But  we  saw  only  the  summer 
domesticity  on  our  June  morning.  A  school  of 
children  were  wading  in  the  shallow  current,  fish- 
ing with  nets.  Their  kimonos  were  tied  high  above 


28  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

their  sturdy  fat  legs.  We  leaned  over  the  rail 
and  they  squinted  back  into  the  sun  at  us  and 
called  out  good-morning.  Then  we  stepped  off 
the  bridge  and  our  boots  were  on  the  long  road 
that  leads  to  Tokyo. 

Hokusai  has  pictured  the  Tokaido  in  his  prints 
— the  villages  and  the  mountains,  the  plains  and 
the  sea,  the  peasants  and  the  pilgrims,  the  ronins 
and  the  priests.  He  did  add  his  immortal  over- 
lay to  the  tradition  of  the  highway's  immortality, 
but  even  the  great  Hokusai  could  only  be  an 
incident  in  the  spread  of  its  renown.  The  Tokai- 
do's  personality  was  no  less  haughty  and  arrogant 
long  centuries  before  the  artist.  It  was  built  by 
the  gods,  as  everyone  knows,  and  not  by  man. 
This  may  be  the  reason  why  it  has  fallen  upon 
hard  days  in  these  modern  times,  now  that  the 
race  of  man  has  assumed  the  task  of  relieving 
the  weary  gods  of  so  many  of  their  duties.  Axes 
have  cut  down  the  cryptomerias  for  miles  because 
the  trees  interfered  with  telegraph  wires;  and 
furthermore,  a  new  highway  has  now  been  built 
between  the  capitals,  a  road  of  steel.  For  most 
of  the  way  this  new  road  follows  alongside  the 
old,  although  sometimes  departing  in  a  straighter 
line.  The  vaulting  arrogance  of  all  was  when 
man  took  the  name  "  The  Tokaido  "  for  a  rail- 


KYOTO  BACK  STREETS 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  29 

way.  The  trains  pass  by  the  ancient  shrines  of 
the  wayside  with  no  tarrying  for  moments  of 
contemplation.  To-day  a  samurai^  with  a  news- 
paper under  one  arm  and  a  lunch  box  under  the 
other — his  two  swords  have  been  thus  displaced — 
goes  from  Kyoto  to  Tokyo  in  as  few  hours  as 
were  the  days  of  his  father's  journeying. 

When  the  feudal  emperors  made  this  pilgrim- 
age they  were  carried  in  silk-hung,  lacquered 
palanquins,  and  fierce-eyed,  two-sworded  retain- 
ers cleared  the  streets  and  sealed  the  houses  so 
that  no  prying  eyes  might  violate  sancrosanctity. 
As  for  our  pilgrimage  we  appreciated  that  we 
were  not  sacred  emperors  and  that  we  were  com- 
ing along  without  announcement.  The  inhabitants 
kept  the  sides  of  their  houses  open  and  stared  out 
upon  us.  We  felt  free,  discreetly,  to  return  their 
glances  from  under  the  brims  of  our  pith  helmets, 
but  occasionally  this  freedom  felt  a  panicky  re- 
straint within  itself  to  keep  eyes  on  the  road. 

In  the  legend  of  her  famous  ride,  Lady  Godiva, 
I  believe,  had  the  houses  sealed  before  her  ap- 
proach as  did  those  deified  Nipponese  emperors. 
We  doubted,  that  early  morning,  whether  the 
dwellers  along  the  Tokaido,  if  they  had  been 
told  Lady  Godiva's  tale,  would  have  had  appre- 
ciation for  her  chastely  wishing  not  to  be  seen,  ex- 


30  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

cept  as  a  mystifying  and  whimsical  eccentricity. 
To  preserve  a  deity  from  mortal  eyes — yes,  that 
might  have  been  conceded  as  a  conventional  neces- 
sity; but  our  surety  grew  after  a  short  advance 
that  if  the  fulfilling  of  a  similar  vow  by  a  Nip- 
ponese Lady  Godiva  should  have  its  penance  de- 
pending merely  upon  the  absence  of  attire,  she 
could  ride  her  palfrey  in  the  environs  of  Kyoto 
inconspicuously  and  without  exciting  comment. 
At  least  such  costuming  would  be  in  local  fashion 
the  first  one  or  two  hours  after  sunrise. 

A  mile  is  a  mile  the  first  day,  and  we  had  had 
three  or  four  miles  in  the  silence  which  comes 
from  the  feeling  that  one  is  really  off. 

"  It's  a  good  morning  for  boiling  out,"  re- 
marked O-Owre-san,  by  way  of  breaking  the  spell. 

We  were  in  a  narrow  valley  walking  head  on 
into  the  sun.  It  was  an  excellent  morning  for 
boiling  out. 

I  suggested  that  it  was  a  good  time  to  take 
the  first  rest.  We  found  a  spot  in  a  temple  gar- 
den up  a  flight  of  exceedingly  steep  stone  steps. 
Usually  to  throw  off  one's  pack  is  to  achieve  the 
supreme  emotional  satisfaction  of  laziness,  but 
on  this  first  essay  we  failed  to  relax.  It  was 
perhaps  partly  that  we  had  not  yet  boiled  out  our 
Western  restlessness  among  other  poisons,  but 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  31 

also  there  was  to  be  counted  in  as  opposed  to  the 
quietude  of  the  garden  a  most  unrestful  sugges- 
tion contributed  by  a  conspicuous  sign  written  in 
English  and  nailed  to  a  post.  It  read: 

"  Foreigners  Visiting  Must  Dismount  Horses 
and  Not  Ride  Into  Temple." 

There  are  visitors  in  the  East  whose  idea  of 
sightseeing  the  heathen  gods  might  not  preclude 
their  riding  their  horses  up  onto  the  lap  of  the 
bronze  Buddha  of  Kamakura;  but  how  the  priest 
imagined  that  horses  were  to  be  urged  up  those 
stone  steps  was  a  mystery  veiled  from  our  under- 
standing. It  even  created  a  pride  in  our  alien 
blood  that  we  were  a  race  thought  to  be  capable 
of  such  magic. 

The  Tokaido  winds  through  the  city  of  Otsu. 
It  enters  proudly  as  the  chief  street  but  escapes 
between  rows  of  mean  houses,  becoming  as  nearly 
a  characterless  lane  as  the  Tokaido  can  anywhere 
be.  The  town  is  the  chief  port  of  Lake  Biwa  of 
the  famed  eight  views,  and  it  is  just  beyond  this 
town  that  the  upstart  railway  takes  itself  off,  to- 
gether with  its  cindery  smoke,  on  a  straighter  line 
than  the  Tokaido.  The  highway  bends  to  the  south 
in  a  swinging  circle  and  wanders  along  for  many 
a  quiet  mile  before  the  two  meet  again.  At  the 
angle  of  the  parting  of  the  old  and  the  new  we 


32  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

stopped  at  a  rest  house  for  a  bottle  of  ramune. 
This  beverage  is  a  carbonated,  chemically  com- 
pounded lemonade.  Its  wide  distribution  does 
possess  one  merit.  The  bottles  may  often  be 
used  as  a  sort  of  guide  book.  Almost  every  little 
shop  along  the  road  has  a  few  bottles  cooling  in  a 
wooden  bucket  of  water.  Thus,  if  a  stranger  is 
walking  from  one  town  to  another  and  if,  as  is 
inevitable,  he  has  been  unable  to  learn  anything 
about  distances  along  the  way,  he  may  at  least 
judge  that  he  is  approximately  half  through  his 
journey  when  the  labels  on  the  bottles  change 
the  address  of  their  origin  to  that  of  the  town 
which  he  is  seeking. 

The  ramune  which  we  had  at  Otsu  was  warm 
and  the  shop  was  stifling  and  the  flies  were  sticky. 
My  clinging  flannel  shirt  was  unbuttoned,  my 
sleeves  were  rolled  up,  and  I  had  tied  a  handker- 
chief about  my  head.  We  carried  our  bottles  out 
to  a  low  bench  to  escape  the  baked  odours  of  the 
shop,  and  while  we  were  sitting  and  sipping  two 
Japanese  gentlemen  came  down  the  road,  looking 
very  cool  under  their  sun  umbrellas  and  in  their 
immaculate  kimonos.  Orthodox  ambition  in  the 
temperate  zone  aims  for  respectability,  power,  and 
property,  but  in  the  tropics  any  temporary  strug- 
gle, whether  in  war  or  trade,  has  as  its  lure  the 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO          33 

reward  of  a  long,  aristocratic,  cooling  calm.  Our 
Japanese  gentlemen,  superiorly  aloof  to  the  per- 
spiring world,  appeared  to  be  amusedly  observing 
the  habits  and  customs  of  the  foreigner  as  ex- 
hibited by  us.  Their  staring  rankled.  Until  then 
I  had  been  happy  in  the  exact  condition  of  my 
perspiration.  Their  observance  now  chilled  the 
beads  on  my  back.  Any  number  of  coolies  could 
have  come  and  stared,  and  called  us  brother — 
for  all  of  that — but  we  were  being  made  to  realize 
suddenly  that  in  the  Orient  the  lower  the  blood 
temperature  the  higher  the  caste  mark.  The  par- 
ent germ  of  all  convention  in  the  world  is  "  not  to 
lose  face."  It  has  been  most  highly  developed 
by  the  Chinese  and  the  Anglo-Saxon.  For  the 
Chinese  it  is  personal,  but  it  makes  the  renegade 
Anglo-Saxon,  despite  himself,  keep  on  trying  to 
hold  up  his  chin  in  a  blind  call  of  blood  loyalty  to 
his  own  mob  when  facing  the  Asiatic. 

We  picked  up  our  packs  and  started  off.  It 
was  either  to  retire  or  nihilistically  to  hurl  the 
packs  at  their  immaculateness.  Just  as  we  be- 
gan to  move  one  of  them  said :  "  Do  you  speak 
English?" 

The  truth  must  be  told  that  we  recanted  much 
of  our  wrath  after  the  friendliness  of  a  half -hour's 
roadside  palaver.  The  meeting,  however,  had  a 


34  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

uniqueness  of  experience  far  beyond  anything 
merely  casual.  It  allowed  us  the  extraordinary 
record  that  we  once  did  acquire  local  information 
from  a  Japanese  whose  conception  of  daily  time 
and  highroad  space  had  some  coincidence  with 
our  Western  science  of  absolute  fact.  Mr.  Yo- 
shida,  he  who  had  called  after  us,  knew  that  cor- 
ner of  Japan  and  he  told  us  about  it. 

O-Owre-san  says :  "  Certain  Japanese  inexpli- 
cabilities  are  extremely  ubiquitous."  He  thus 
confines  himself  to  six  words.  I  cannot.  I  require 
a  paragraph.  Despite  the  ubiquitous  mystery, 
there  is  always  one  certainty:  Whatever  may  be 
the  thought  processes  of  the  Japanese  concerning 
hours,  distances,  and  direction,  the  inquirer  may 
be  sure  of  this:  the  answer  will  not  be  concerned 
with  answering  the  question.  The  courteous  an- 
swerer earnestly  uses  his  judgment  to  determine 
what  reply  is  likely  to  be  most  pleasing.  If  you 
appear  weary,  or  in  a  hurry,  then  the  distance  to 
go  is  never  very  long.  If  you  appear  to  be  en- 
joying your  walk,  then  the  distance  is  a  long 
way.  The  village  which  has  been  declared  just 
around  the  bend  of  the  road  may  be  two  ri  off. 
This  is  the  desire  to  please,  inculcated  by  the 
Bushido  creed  of  honourable  conduct.  It  may  be 
thought  that  such  paradoxical  solicitude  becomes 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  35 

extremely  irritating,  but  rarely  does  it.  The  wish 
to  help  is  real,  at  least,  and  is  not  merely  the 
carelessness  of  superficiality.  The  peasant  may 
tell  you  that  you  have  but  a  step  to  go,  but  if 
you  are  lost  he  will  turn  aside  from  his  own 
path  and  show  you  the  way,  though  it  be  for 
miles. 

We  noted  down  Mr.  Yoshida's  details  concern- 
ing the  inns  and  villages  which  we  should  find 
along  the  way  to  distant  Nagoya.  Experience 
soon  told  us  to  hold  fast  to  his  information,  no 
matter  the  contradictions  that  were  agreeably 
offered  in  its  stead. 

We  shouldered  our  packs  and  again  were  off. 
After  a  time  O-Owre-san  said:  "I  met  Mr.  Yo- 
shida  once  at  a  dinner  in  America." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  him  so?  "  I  gasped. 

O-Owre-san  seemed  surprised  at  my  amaze- 
ment. As  nearly  as  I  could  determine  he  must 
have  completely  disassociated  the  metabolic  Owre 
sitting  on  the  bench  in  front  of  the  rest  house, 
drinking  warm  ramune,  and  the  Owre  of  prac- 
tical America.  Perhaps  the  Japanese  believe  in 
the  "  unfathomable  mystery  of  the  American 
mind." 

We  had  six  hours  through  the  hills  ahead  of  us 
if  we  were  to  keep  on  that  night  to  Minakuchi. 


86  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

Our  mentor  had  told  us  that  one  of  the  most 
luxurious  of  all  the  country  inns  in  Japan  was  se- 
questered there.  To  hurry  to  any  particular 
place  was  against  our  code,  but  this  time  it  seemed 
reasonable  to  make  an  honourable  exception. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  paddy  fields. 
The  muddy  waters  of  the  terraces  caught  the 
gleaming  yellows  and  reds,  but  our  backs  were 
against  this  suffusion  of  colour.  Into  the  dark- 
ness ahead  the  narrow  road  led  on  and  on.  Says 
the  essayist:  "  The  artist  should  know  hunger  and 
want."  But  surely  not  the  art  patron.  He  can- 
not perform  his  function  of  appreciation  unless 
comfortably  removed  from  immediate  pangs.  If 
I  were  to  be  an  enthusiast  over  that  wonderful 
sunset — as  O-Owre-san  persisted  in  suggesting — I 
needed  food.  It  had  been  fifteen  hours  since  our 
cold  breakfast  and  I  thought  of  the  inn  with  an 
ardency  of  vision. 

When  we  did  see  the  town  it  sprang  up 
abruptly  out  of  the  fields.  All  along  the  streets 
the  lights  were  shining  through  the  paper  walls. 
We  made  inquiry  for  the  yado-ya  and  in  a  mo- 
ment were  surrounded  by  volunteer  guides.  They 
are  always  diverting,  the  Japanese  children,  run- 
ning along  on  their  wooden  clogs  and  looking  up 
into  your  face. 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO          37 

Maids  without  number  came  running  to  the 
entrance  of  that  aristocratic  inn,  and  dropped  to 
their  knees.  They  bowed  until  their  glossy  black 
hair  touched  the  ground.  The  auguries  all  ap- 
peared auspicious.  Then  came  the  mistress. 
There  were  many  polite  words,  but  no  one  took 
our  rucksacks  and  no  one  invited  us  in.  Every 
second's  waiting  for  the  bath  and  dinner  was  very, 
very  long. 

My  Japanese  of  twelve  years  before  had  been 
but  a  few  words.  Days  on  the  Trans-Siberian 
of  grammar  and  dictionary  study  had  not  even 
brought  back  that  little,  but  now  suddenly  I  be- 
gan to  understand  what  the  mistress  of  that  inn 
was  saying.  I  had  no  vanity  in  my  understanding. 
The  understanding  was  that  we  were  not  wanted. 
I  had  been  tired  and  I  had  been  hungry  when 
we  reached  the  door,  but  now  I  knew  the  unut- 
terable weariness  of  smelling  a  dinner  which 
may  not  be  eaten. 

The  crowd  was  amused,  but  it  showed  its 
amusement  considerately  and  with  restraint. 
Nevertheless  two  seiyo-jins  had  lost  face.  Ap- 
parently the  mistress  did  not  wish  such  suspicious- 
looking  foreigners,  grimy,  dustless,  and  coatless, 
to  remain  even  in  the  same  town.  She  called  two 
'rickshas.  She  named  the  next  village.  She  had 


38  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

this  much  magnanimity  that  she  purposed  giving 
us  the  chance  of  orderly  retreat. 

I  tried  to  continue  smiling  with  dignity  and  af- 
fability. It  is  somewhat  of  a  strain  on  diplomatic 
smiles  when  the  subject  of  discussion  is  vitally 
concerned  with  one's  own  starvation.  Neverthe- 
less I  did  smile.  I  explained  that  whatever  we 
did  we  were  not  going  on  to  the  next  town.  I 
knew  the  word  for  "  another,"  and  the  word  for 
"inn,"  and  how  to  say,  "Is  it?"  And  thus  I 
asked:  "Another  inn  here,  is  it?"  There  was 
little  incitement  to  believe  that  she  understood  ex- 
cept that  her  mouth  pouted  ever  so  slightly  as  if 
in  surprise  that  I  should  imply  that  the  mistress 
of  such  a  superior  inn  could  have  any  'knowledge 
concerning  mere  bourgeois  caravansaries. 

O-Owre-san,  during  this  parleying,  had  put  on 
his  coat  and  in  other  subtle  ways  had  transformed 
himself  into  a  conventional  foreigner.  After  that 
he  had  settled  into  repose  and  silence.  I  looked  at 
him.  I  searched  for  a  flaw.  I  declared  by  the 
great  Tokaido  itself  that  with  such  a  fright- 
producing  handicap  as  his  ultra-Occidental  beard 
we  should  never  find  resting  spots  outside  the  local 
jails. 

"  Humph!  "  said  he.  "  Stop  talking  for  a  min- 
ute and  put  on  your  coat." 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  39 

I  succumbed.  "  All  right,  then,"  I  said. 
"  Here's  for  the  magic  of  that  vestment  of  re- 
spectability." 

I  sat  down  on  the  ground  and  untied  the  bag. 
The  prophecy  of  magic  was  too  feeble  by  far 
for  the  prestidigitation  which  followed.  I  shook 
out  the  folds  of  the  garment  which  is  called  a  coat, 
a  mere  two  sleeves,  a  back  and  a  front  and  a  few 
buttons.  The  circle  came  closer.  But  it  was  not 
the  coat  after  all  which  caused  our  audience  so 
graciously  to  begin  giving  back  our  lost  faces  to 
us — it  was  the  supermagic  of  one  leg  of  a  pair  of 
silk  pajamas.  A  black-eyed  jackdaw,  a  trifle 
more  daring  in  her  curiosity  than  the  others,  dis- 
covered the  hem  of  that  garment  tipping  out  from 
a  corner  of  my  pack.  She  gave  it  a  jerk,  and 
then  another.  Next  she  looked  up  with  coaxing 
persuasion,  suggesting  encouragement  to  tug 
again. 

O-Owre-san  had  insisted  that  I  have  those 
pajamas  made  in  Kyoto.  He  has  theories  about 
the  necessity  of  silk  pajamas.  I  never,  even  re- 
motely, followed  the  dialectics  of  his  reasons, 
but  I  must  add  to  the  credit  side  of  such  theoriz- 
ings  that  pajamas  are  a  most  intriguing  garment 
to  pass  around  for  the  benefit  of  an  inn  court- 
yard crowd.  The  maid  gave  the  next  tug  and  out 


40  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

they  came.  Everybody  reached  forward  a  finger 
and  a  thumb  to  feel. 

Between  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  the  silk 
pajamas  and  their  repacking — I  cold-heartedly 
refused  to  exhibit  a  putting  of  them  on — we  rose 
from  nobodies  to  persons  of  importance  in  Mina- 
kuchi.  Even  the  mistress  hinted  that  she  had  men- 
tally recounted  her  space  for  guests  and  had 
thought  of  a  luxurious  corner  of  amply  sufficient 
dimensions  to  spread  two  beds.  There  was,  of 
course,  no  sane  reason  why  we  should  not,  then 
and  there,  have  taken  advantage  of  this  altered 
atmosphere,  but  for  me  the  inn  had  lost  its  savour. 
Anyone  who  has  ever  had  some  similar  twist  of 
psychology  will  appreciate  the  inside  of  my  irra- 
tionalism.  Others  will  not  or  cannot.  I  moved 
over  to  the  'rickshas.  O-Owre-san  remained  lin- 
gering. He,  too,  had  noted  the  change  in  the  mis- 
tress's attitude. 

"  How  about  making  one  more  overture? "  he 
suggested. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  I  answered,  "but  don't  you  feel 
that  any  experience  which  this  inn  might  now  hold 
for  us  would  be  an  anti-climax  after  our  present 
dramatic  triumph  ? " 

O-Owre-san  regretfully  sniffed  the  fragrant 
steam  drifting  from  the  kitchen  braziers. 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  4,1 

"  No,  I  decidedly  don't  feel  so,"  said  he,  "  but 
of  course,  if  I  have  to  save  your  dilettante  soul 
from  anti-climaxes,  I  suppose  I  can  sleep  in  a  rice 
field — but  whatever  you  do,  do  it! " 

I  threw  our  bags  into  the  'rickshas  and  we 
climbed  in  after  them,  and  were  off  to  the  other 
inn. 

We  made  our  impact  against  this  objective 
much  more  catapultic.  There  was  nothing  tenta- 
tive in  our  kicking  off  our  shoes  and  getting  well 
under  the  lintel  before  any  mistress  of  authority 
could  appear.  Our  onslaught  paralysed  the  ad- 
vance line  of  receiving  maidens,  and  we  settled 
down  on  the  interior  mats  and  assumed  a  contem- 
plative calm.  We  continued  to  sit  thus  oblivious 
to  the  excitement  heaped  upon  excitement.  We 
were  islands  of  fact  in  the  midst  of  an  ocean  of 
conversation.  After  the  ocean  had  dried  up 
because  none  had  words  left,  we  were  still  ob- 
viously remaining,  and  there  was  nothing  left  to 
do  but  to  make  the  best  of  us.  A  maid  picked  up 
our  bags  and  bowed  very  low.  She  retreated 
toward  the  inner  darkness  and  we  followed,  first 
along  a  corridor  and  then  up  a  flight  of  railless 
stairs  to  a  room  open  on  two  sides  against  a  court- 
yard garden. 

To  have  been  in  harmony  at  all  with  the  ancient 


42  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

traditions  of  the  Tokaido,  coolies  should  have 
been  carrying  our  luggage  in  huge  red  and  gold 
lacquered  chests.  The  room  to  which  we  were 
taken  would  have  been  a  room  of  dignity  even 
for  a  daimyo.  The  maid  placed  our  two  dusty 
Occidental  rucksacks  on  the  shelf  under  the  kake- 
mona.  Their  very  presence  piped  a  chanty  that 
our  possessing  that  room  was  ironic  comedy.  We 
began  to  laugh.  A  ne-san  is  as  ever  ready  to 
laugh  as  water  is  to  flow,  and  with  no  other 
grand  cause  than  just  the  doing.  Our  maid  began 
laughing  with  us,  and  up  the  stairs  came  all  the 
other  maids  in  curiosity.  Ensconced,  their  inter- 
est seemed  permanent.  Our  vocabulary  was  very 
far  from  being  sufficient  to  protect  our  Western 
prudery.  As  a  last  resort  we  took  them  by  their 
shoulders  and  turned  them  around  and  urged 
them  in  this  unsubtle  manner  from  the  door. 

I  began  undressing  at  one  end  of  the  room, 
leaving  my  garments  in  my  wake  as  I  rolled  over 
the  soft  matting.  When  I  reached  the  kakemono. 
shelf,  I  slipped  into  my  silk  pajamas.  When  we 
went  below  to  find  the  honourable  bath  we  at  least 
left  the  room  looking  not  so  bare  as  our  meagre 
luggage  had  predicted. 

We  returned  from  the  bath  and  banked  our 
cushions  on  the  narrow  balcony  overhanging  the 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  43 

garden.  A  slight  breeze  stirred  the  branches 
of  the  trees  and  started  swinging  the  paper  lan- 
terns which  hung  over  a  stone  fountain.  Other 
guests  of  the  inn  had  finished  their  dinners 
and  it  was  their  toothbrush  hour.  Dressed  in 
their  cotton  kimonos  they  stood  bending  over  shin- 
ing brass  basins  filled  from  the  well  fountain.  It 
would  probably  be  useless  to  ask  any  Occidental 
to  imagine  that  the  function  of  teeth  cleansing 
with  long,  flexible  handled  brushes  may  be  a 
social  and  picturesque  addendum  to  garden  life; 
we  have  too  long  looked  upon  ablutions  as  being 
merely  necessitous. 

Dinner  came.  Whether  strict  philosophical 
truth  lies  in  the  belief  that  every  sensation  is 
unique,  or  whether  in  the  contrary  that  no  experi- 
ence can  be  other  than  a  repetition  of  some  situa- 
tion which  has  been  staged  over  and  over  again 
in  the  turning  of  the  cosmic  wheel,  I  shall  con- 
tinue to  maintain  that  a  wanderer  who  has  gone 
from  half  after  four  in  the  morning,  fortified 
only  by  a  mouthful  of  cold  breakfast,  until  nine 
at  night,  and  has  walked  something  more  than 
twenty-five  miles  under  a  hot  sun,  and  has  had 
one  dinner  snatched  away  from  him,  and  then 
finds  himself  risen  from  a  bath  and  sitting  in  the 
slow,  warm,  evening  air  in  a  room  of  simple  har- 


44  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

mony,  and  then  a  small  lacquer  table  is  placed 
before  him  with  the  alluring  odours  of  five  steam- 
ing dishes  ascending  to  his  nose — yes,  I  shall 
continue  to  maintain  that  such  a  wanderer  has  a 
human  right  to  protest  that  such  a  situation  is 
an  event. 

They  replenished  the  tables  with  second  supplies 
of  the  first  dishes  and  with  first  and  second  dishes 
of  new  courses.  We  had  two  kinds  of  soup  and 
three  varieties  of  fish;  we  had  chicken  and  we 
had  vegetables  and  boiled  seaweed;  and  we  fin- 
ished with  innumerable  bowls  of  rice.  At  the 
end  they  brought  iced  water  and  tea  and  re- 
newed the  charcoal  in  the  braziers  for  our  smoking. 
The  tobacco  clouds  drifted  from  our  lips.  Only 
one  possible  thought  was  worth  putting  into  words 
and  that  was  the  request  to  have  the  beds  laid. 
However,  the  evening  was  destined  not  for  such 
sensuous  oblivion. 

Breaking  in  upon  this  godly  languor  came  a 
visitation  by  the  entire  family  of  the  inn.  The 
family  particularly  embraced  in  its  intimacy  also 
the  maid-servants  and  the  men-servants.  Even 
the  baby  had  been  wakened  to  come.  In  the  be- 
ginning O-Owre-san  offered  cigarettes  in  lieu  of 
conversation  and  I  thumbed  the  dictionary  for 
compliments  for  the  baby.  The  blue-bound  book 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  45 

of  phrases  proved  to  be  rich  in  fitting  adjectives, 
and  my  efforts  were  rewarded  with  sufficient  ap- 
proval to  encourage  us  to  go  on  with  a  search 
for  compliments  for  mother  and  father  and  all  the 
others.  The  baby  crawled  forward  inch  by  inch 
until  one  of  the  strange  foreign  giants  courage- 
ously picked  it  up.  Our  guests  had  first  sat  in  a 
very  formal  half -circle,  but  under  the  expansive- 
ness  of  growing  goodwill  the  line  was  breaking. 

It  was  a  night,  however,  of  many  visitations. 
Hardly  had  we,  as  hosts,  with  the  aid  of  the  baby, 
carried  the  attack  with  some  success  against  rigid 
self -consciousness  when  there  came  the  sound  of 
a  step  on  the  stair.  Immediately  the  mood  of 
laughter  changed  to  one  of  marked  quietness 
and  expectancy.  The  circle  readjusted  itself. 
The  mother  snatched  back  the  baby  and  by  some 
technic  ended  its  expressions  of  curiosity  and  re- 
duced it,  as  only  a  Japanese  baby  can  be  reduced, 
to  a  pair  of  staring  eyes.  We  sat  waiting  the 
coming  of  the  intruder.  The  ne-sans  bowed  their 
heads  to  the  floor. 

The  awaited  one  was  a  tall  young  man,  with 
round,  pinkish,  glistening  limbs,  and  a  round  face. 
He  dropped  heavily  to  his  knees  and  bent  over 
until  his  forehead  touched  the  mat,  continuing  this 
salutation  for  some  time.  Then  he  sat  up  smil- 


46  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

ing  and  satisfied.  He  had  brought  with  him 
three  or  four  foreign  books  and  he  was,  without 
need  of  introduction,  the  village  scholar,  Minaku- 
chi's  representative  of  modernity,  a  precious  and 
honoured  cabinet  of  wisdom  newly  come  home 
from  the  University.  After  his  smiling  expansion 
he  next  composed  his  features  to  solemnity.  He 
adjusted  his  kimono  taut  over  his  knees.  Then 
he  waited  until  the  last  quiver  in  his  audience 
succumbed  into  the  extreme  quietude  of  painful 
tension.  Even  the  breeze  lulled.  He  spoke: 

"  I — am — in — this — room!  " 

The  heads  of  the  circle  nodded  and  renodded 
to  each  other.  What  had  the  foreigners  to  an- 
swer to  that? 

We  tried  to  express  a  proper  appreciation. 
"It — is — cold — to-day — but — it — was — raining 
— yesterday." 

An  opinion  about  temperature  is  more  or  less  a 
personal  judgment,  but  the  falling  of  raindrops 
is  a  material  fact.  On  the  yesterday  it  had  not 
rained. 

This  time  the  circle  could  not  restrain  itself  but 
sighed  with  positive  and  audible  contentment.  Mi- 
nakuchi  had  been  vindicated.  If  the  audience 
showed  content  with  its  spokesman,  it  was  as  noth- 
ing compared  to  his  own  contentment.  The  artist 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  47 

in  tongues  now  opened  his  books  with  a  business- 
like air  and  put  on  his  spectacles.  His  visit  was 
not,  then,  purely  social.  The  sentences  which 
followed  were,  as  nearly  as  we  could  determine, 
questions  to  us.  They  came,  a  word  at  a  time, 
out  of  his  dictionary.  The  conventions  of  speech 
which  the  Japanese  employ  in  polite  inquiry  have 
been  moulded  by  symbolism,  mysticism,  and  an- 
alogy into  phrases  most  remote  from  the  original 
rudiment.  A  word  by  word  translation  into  Eng- 
lish carries  no  meaning  whatsoever.  We  answered 
by:  "  Oh,  yes,  yes, — of  course." 

The  baby  was  growing  restless.  The  scholar 
took  in  this  sign  from  the  corner  of  his  eye.  His 
dramatic  sense  was  keen.  He  had  no  intention 
that  his  audience  should  become  bored  and  he 
snapped  shut  the  books  with  the  pronounced 
meaning  that  everything  had  been  settled  as  far 
as  he  was  concerned.  Then  he  clapped  his  hands 
loudly.  Instantly  from  below  came  more  foot- 
steps and  a  clank-clanking  of  metal  on  wood,  and 
in  a  moment  into  the  room  walked  an  officer  of  the 
police.  His  heavy  dress  uniform  was  white,  with 
gold  braid  twisting  round  and  about  the  sleeves 
and  shoulders.  His  sword,  the  secret  of  the  rhyth- 
mic clanking,  was  almost  as  tall  as  himself.  He 
faced  us  rigidly  and  without  a  smile,  then  slowly 


48  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

sank  to  his  knees  and  dropped  his  head  to  the  mat. 
I  have  faith  that  that  man,  without  an  extra  heart- 
beat, would  have  joined  a  sure  death  charge  across 
a  battlefield,  but  his  present  duty  brought  the 
red  blush  of  painful  embarrassment  to  his  olive 
skin  from  the  edge  of  his  tight  collar  to  the  fringe 
of  his  black  hair.  He  was  silently  and  perspir- 
ingly  suffering  in  the  cause  of  duty — but  what 
was  his  duty? 

I  do  not  know  just  how  we  gained  the  idea,  if 
it  were  not  through  telepathy,  but  we  decided  that 
he  was  discounting  the  abilities  of  the  interpreter 
down  to  an  extreme  minimum,  although  he  lis- 
tened attentively  enough  to  some  long  statement  * 
After  the  explanation,  which  seemingly  concerned 
us,  the  youth  arose  and  with  much  dignity  with- 
drew from  the  room  followed  by  many  expres- 
sions of  appreciation  from  the  inn  family.  Every 
one  of  us  who  had  been  left  behind,  except  the 
baby  who  had  gone  to  sleep,  now  waited  for  some 
continuance  of  the  drama,  but  nothing  proceeded 
to  materialize.  I  grew  so  sleepy  that  if  the  po- 
liceman had  suddenly  said  that  we  were  to  be 
executed  at  sunrise  the  most  interesting  part  of 
the  information  would  have  been  the  finding  out 
whether  we  could  sleep  until  that  hour.  As  I 
did  not  know  how  polite  it  might  be  to  say  that 


THE  FIRST  REST  SPOT  OF  THE  SECOND  DAY 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO          49 

we  were  tired,  I  found  a  phrase,  "  You  must  be 
very  tired,"  to  which  I  linked,  "  therefore  we  shall 
go  to  bed." 

This  veiled  ultimatum  was  as  graciously  ac- 
cepted as  if  they  had  been  waiting  those  exact 
words  to  free  them  to  go  their  way.  The  ne-sans 
ran  for  mattresses  and  prepared  the  beds.  Then 
they  hung  the  great  mosquito  netting.  After  that 
we  all  said  our  good-nights,  all  except  the  police 
official  who,  image  like,  remained  sitting  against 
the  wall. 

By  earnest  beseeching  we  had  persuaded  the 
maids  not  to  close  the  wooden  shogi  around  the 
balcony.  Thus,  when  we  turned  out  the  lamp  and 
stretched  out  on  our  beds,  the  starlight  came  in. 
It  shone  on  the  white  uniform.  I  had  never  hap- 
pened to  have  the  experience  of  going  to  sleep 
under  the  eye  of  a  policeman  but  realism  proved 
that  practice  was  unnecessary.  Sinking  to  obli- 
vion was  as  positive  as  a  plunge.  The  vast  em- 
bracing fluid  of  rest  closed  in  over  my  head. 

I  was  dreamless  until  I  awoke  under  a  sudden, 
crushing  nightmare.  I  thought  that  an  army  of 
white  and  gold  uniforms  had  mobilized  and  was 
tramping  over  my  chest,  taking  care  that  every 
heel  should  fall  pitilessly.  The  one  policeman  who 
existed  in  reality  had  been  trying  to  wake  me  up 


50  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

and  he  had  evidently  had  a  task,  but  as  soon  as 
he  was  sure  that  my  eyes  were  open  to  stay  he 
forwent  further  assault.  He  had  lighted  the  lamp 
and  I  could  see  back  of  him  a  naked  coolie,  con- 
vulsively gasping  for  breath.  The  man  was  car- 
rying an  envelope.  The  officer  took  the  envelope 
and  then  sent  him  off.  He  reeled  to  the  stairs 
holding  his  panting  sides.  The  officer  then  took 
out  a  sheet  of  paper  and  handed  it  to  me.  The 
page  was  written  in  modified  English  but  was  quite 
intelligible.  While  the  sentences  were  nothing 
more  than  a  series  of  questions,  at  the  same  time 
they  gave  a  clue  to  the  mystery  of  the  evening. 

Our  inn-keeper  had  had  the  inspiration  to  call 
upon  the  scholar-interpreter  to  ask  us  the  questions 
which  all  travellers  must  answer  for  the  police 
record  in  every  town  where  a  stop  is  made  for  the 
night.  We  had  been  correct  about  there  being  one 
doubter  in  Minakuchi  of  the  ability  of  the  inter- 
preter. In  a  plot  for  his  own  amusement  the  po- 
lice officer  had  sent  a  runner  to  a  neighbouring 
town  to  have  the  conventional  list  of  questions 
translated  into  English,  and  thus  to  compare  our 
written  answers  with  the  answers  given  him  by 
the  youth.  There  they  were,  the  questions:  who 
were  we  —  how  old  —  profession  —  antecedents 
whence  and  whither.  If  one  is  tempted  into  way- 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  51 

ward  rebellion  against  such  minuteness  of  interro- 
gation, it  is  wise  to  remember  that  the  claim 
of  a  sense  of  humour  may  be  considered  very 
poor  testimony  in  a  Japanese  court  perchance 
misunderstandings  at  any  time  arise  and  the 
answers  in  the  police  records  have  to  be 
looked  up. 

I  wrote  out  the  answers.  With  no  one  in  the 
room  as  a  witness  except  ourselves,  the  officer 
allowed  a  twinkle  to  come  into  his  eye.  He  even 
winked  and  pointed  to  where  the  youth  had  sat. 
Then  he  shut  up  the  paper  in  his  register  and 
blew  out  the  light  and  clanked  off  down  the  stairs. 
Again  we  slept. 

The  etiquette  of  an  inn  is  that  all  crude  ap- 
pearance of  hurry  should  be  avoided  by  waiting 
in  one's  room  in  the  morning  for  one's  bill.  The 
Japanese  do  not  travel  hurriedly;  if  they  wish 
an  early  start  they  get  up  proportionately  in 
time.  We  had  asked  for  an  early  breakfast  and 
it  had  been  served  at  the  hour  which  we  had 
named.  We  had  happened  to  have  good  inten- 
tions about  not  rushing.  Nevertheless,  of  course, 
we  fell  into  an  inevitable  hurry.  After  breakfast 
I  had  been  so  interested  in  sitting  on  our  balcony 
watching  the  waking  up  of  the  day  that  I  forgot 
to  pack  my  rucksack.  O-Owre-san  said  that  he 


52  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

would  pay  the  bill  downstairs  and  wait  at  the 

door. 

When  I  arrived  under  the  lintel  where  we 
had  left  our  shoes  I  felt  as  if  I  were  intruding. 
The  bearded  foreigner  was  surrounded  by  the 
inn  family  and  each  member  was  handing  him  a 
present.  There  were  blue  and  white  Japanese 
towels  folded  into  decorated  envelopes,  and  there 
were  fans  and  postcards.  The  cost  of  the  gift 
fans  may  have  been  little  but  the  maker  had  taken 
his  designs  from  models  of  the  best  tradition, 
and  the  fans  to  be  found  for  sale  are  not  com- 
parable. 

The  daughters  of  the  house  walked  with  us 
until  we  came  to  the  Tokaido  and  then  they 
pointed  out  our  direction  and  stood  waving  fare- 
wells until  we  could  see  them  no  longer.  I  waited 
until  then  before  making  inquiry  about  the 
amount  of  the  bill.  This  detail  was  a  matter  of 
distinct  importance.  When  we  met  in  Kyoto 
we  pooled  our  purses  and  the  common  fund  was 
entrusted  to  O-Owre-san's  care.  Neither  of  us 
had  made  much  effort  to  acquire  theoretical  in- 
formation about  what  daily  expenses  might  be. 
We  had  just  so  much  paint  with  which  to  cover 
the  surface  of  the  definite  number  of  days  before 
our  steamer  would  carry  us  away,  and  this  meant 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  53 

that  we  would  have  to  mix  thick  or  thin  accord- 
ingly. Experience  only  could  teach  us  what  items 
we  could  afford  and  what  bargains  we  should  have 
to  make.  I  thus  awaited  the  answer  about  the 
bill  with  flattering  attention. 

'  The  bill,  including  extras  for  iced  water  and 
cigarettes  and  getting  our  special  dinner  after 
every  one  else  had  finished,"  said  the  treasurer  with 
appropriate  solemnity,  "  was  three  yen"  (A  yen 
is  about  fifty  cents.)  "And,"  he  concluded,  "I 
gave  a  full  yen  for  the  tea-money  tip." 

We  waited  until  we  sat  down  for  the  first  rest 
before  we  attempted  a  practical  financial  fore- 
cast. We  divided  the  number  of  remaining  days 
into  the  sum  of  the  paper  notes  carried  in  a  linen 
envelope.  The  answer  quieted  our  fears  and  ex- 
ceeded our  hopes.  Putting  aside  a  reserve  for 
extra  occasions,  beyond  our  inn  bills  we  would 
be  able  to  afford  the  luxury  of  spending  along 
the  road  twenty-five  cents  a  day  for  tea,  tobacco, 
and  chemical  lemonade. 

There  is  something  unnatural  in  such  simplicity 
of  finance,  as  anyone  must  agree  who  believes  at 
all  in  the  jealousy  of  the  gods.  I  should  have 
been  forewarned  by  an  old  Chinese  tale  that  I 
had  been  told  only  a  fortnight  before.  It  was 
while  sitting  in  a  Peking  restaurant.  The  teller 


54  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

was  a  most  revolutionary  sen  of  a  most  conserva- 
tive mandarin.  A  peasant  once  entertained  a  god 
unawares.  In  the  morning  the  god  told  the  peas- 
ant that  any  wish  which  he  might  name  would 
be  granted,  be  it  for  riches,  or  power,  or  even 
the  most  beautiful  maid  in  all  the  dragon  king- 
dom to  be  his  wife.  But  the  peasant  asked  that 
he  might  only  be  assured  that  until  the  end  of 
his  days  he  need  never  doubt  when  hungry  that 
he  would  have  food,  and  at  the  fall  of  night  that 
he  would  find  a  pillow  on  which  to  lay  his  head. 
The  god  looked  at  him  sorrowfully  and  said: 
"  Alas !  You  have  asked  the  impossible.  Such 
favours  are  reserved  for  the  gods  alone." 

We  got  up  from  our  figuring  blithely,  indulg- 
ing ourselves  in  the  idea  that  we  could  achieve 
such  evenness  of  expenditure.  Think  what  an 
upsetting  of  ponderous  economics  and  competi- 
tive jungle  law  there  would  be  if  the  world  could 
and  should  abruptly  take  any  such  consideration 
of  its  wealth! 

The  payer  of  the  bill  had  also  added  that  he 
had  given  a  full  yen  for  the  tea-money  tip.  In 
those  large  areas  of  Japan  where  the  barbarous 
foreigner  has  not  yet  intruded  with  his  indiscrimi- 
nate giving,  there  is  to  be  found  the  ancient 
system  of  tea-money.  The  tea-money  custom  is 


THE  ANCIENT  TOKAIDO  55 

founded  on  the  belief  that  the  wayfarer  is  the 
personal  guest  of  the  host.  When  the  guest 
departs  he  is  not  paying  a  bill,  he  is  making  a 
present,  and  to  this  sum  he  adds  from  a  quarter 
to  a  third  part  extra.  This  extra  payment  is 
the  tea-money  and  is  to  be  divided  by  the  host 
among  the  servants.  The  departing  guest  is  then 
given  a  present.  All  in  all,  leave  taking  is  a 
function. 

A  guest  does  not  ask  nor  demand.  He  offers 
a  request  and  thereby  confers  a  supreme  favour 
upon  any  servant  fortunate  enough  to  be  desig- 
nated. All  this  pleasant  service  has  not  the  em- 
barrassment that  one  must  confine  a  request  to 
any  particular  maid  so  as  to  escape  the  necessity 
of  widespread  tipping  at  departure.  It  is  all 
in  the  tea-money. 


Ill 

"  I  HAVE  EATEN  OF  THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES  " 
Vol.  I,  Sect.  IX.     The  "Ko-Ji-Ki " 

A  VERY  famous  book  in  Japan  is  named  the 
"  Ko-Ji-Ki,"  and  the  word  means  "  A  Record 
of  Ancient  Matters."  We  thought  on  our  second 
morning  as  we  walked  through  the  hills  that  if 
there  should  happen  to  be  a  modern  chronolo- 
gist  recording  a  present-time  Ko-Ji-Ki  those 
hours  of  the  sun's  approaching  meridian  would 
be  entered  without  dispute  as  The-Forever- 
Famous-Never-To-Be-Equalled-Day-Of-Fire.  In 
the  valleys  there  was  no  breeze;  on  the  summits 
there  was  no  shade;  and  everywhere  it  seemed 
probable  that  on  the  next  instant  the  road  would 
blister  into  molten  heat  bubbles  under  our  feet. 
However — to  anticipate — if  such  a  postulated 
chronicler  had  so  styled  that  second  day  of  our 
walking  as  one  without  chance  of  peer  among 
historical  days  of  heat,  on  the  very  next  follow- 
ing day  he  would  have  had  to  turn  back  to  cross 
out  his  lines.  In  the  burning  glare  of  the  rice 
fields,  anything  that  had  gone  before  was  so 

56 


'  THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES  "      57 

easily  surpassed  that  we  forever  lost  belief  in 
maximums,  unless  indeed  kinetic  energy  might 
continue  on  such  a  wild  rampage  of  vibration 
that  it  would  shake  itself  completely  out  of 
existence. 

Our  first  rest  of  the  second  day,  as  I  said, 
was  devoted  to  the  arithmetic  of  finance.  At 
that  early  hour  the  dew  was  not  yet  off  the 
grass,  but  when  we  began  planning  for  another 
rest  the  world  had  grown  parched.  Looking 
about  for  some  possible  spot  we  saw  through 
the  trees  the  roof  of  a  small  temple.  We  halted 
at  the  entrance  and  tried  to  push  open  the  gate. 
It  would  not  move.  It  was  nailed  to  the  ribs 
of  the  fence,  but  the  gate  was  low  enough  to  be 
vaulted.  Our  feet  fell  on  the  ghost  of  a  path 
that  had  once  led  to  the  shrine.  Harsh  brambles 
and  weeds  had  fought  for  the  possession  of  the 
path  until  they  had  almost  conquered  the  flag- 
gings. If  we  thought  at  all  we  thought  that 
that  particular  walk  must  have  been  abandoned 
for  some  other  entrance  and  as  the  scratches 
were  not  very  serious  we  pushed  our  way  through 
until  at  last  we  stepped  forth  into  the  temple 
yard.  Not  a  sign  of  caretaking  devotion  was 
anywhere  in  evidence  nor  was  there  a  nodding 
priest  sitting  in  the  temple  door. 


58  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

Sometimes  the  Chinese  desert  their  temples 
but,  when  incense  is  no  longer  burned  before  an 
altar,  celestial  practical  sense  leaves  little  that  is 
movable  behind.  We  slowly  walked  up  the 
steps  to  the  door,  expecting  to  find  the  temple 
rifled.  The  door  was  sealed  by  spiders'  webs. 
We  then  walked  around  the  balcony  and  peered 
through  the  wide  cracks  in  the  shogi.  No  fingers 
of  man  had  rummaged  there  since  the  priests 
had  said  the  last  mass,  but  the  fingers  of  decay 
had  been  busily  working.  The  rotted  fabrics 
hung  down  from  the  altars  of  the  shrines  and 
the  ashes  of  the  incense  in  the  bronze  bowls  was 
hidden  by  the  blacker  dust  which  the  wind  had 
carried  through  the  shutters.  Surely  we  were 
the  first  intruders  to  step  upon  the  balcony  since 
the  gate  had  been  swung  to  and  nailed. 

We  walked  around  the  corners  until  we  had 
seen  everything  that  there  was  to  see  and  then 
we  jumped  down  to  a  grassy  slope  on  the  shady 
side  of  the  temple  and  stretched  ourselves  out 
in  relaxation.  It  was  very  quiet.  As  I  knew 
O-Owre-san  could  sleep  for  ten  minutes  and 
then  wake  up  to  the  instant,  I  closed  one  eye 
and  then  the  other.  They  both  came  open  to- 
gether. I  had  felt  a  soft  dragging  across  my 
ankles  and  I  raised  my  head  to  see  a  very  thin, 


'THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES"      59 

long,  green  and  grey  snake  raising  its  head  up 
between  my  feet  to  stare  into  my  face.  After 
a  beady  inspection  it  wriggled  away  with  slow 
undulations  into  the  grass.  And  then,  from  the 
spot  where  that  snake  had  taken  passage  over 
my  ankles,  came  the  head  of  another.  I  jerked 
my  feet  up  under  me. 

The  instant  before  there  had  been  an  oppressive 
quietness.  The  silence  had  been  so  supreme  that 
we  ourselves  had  scarcely  spoken.  Now  there 
was  a  vast  hurrying  of  little  noises.  Lizards 
ran  along  the  rafters  under  the  roof  and  dropped 
down  the  wall,  as  lizards  do,  to  flatten  themselves 
away  into  corners.  Huge  buzzing  flies  rose  from 
the  surface  of  the  pond  and  bumped  against  us 
aimlessly.  Mosquitoes  came  from  the  shadows. 
I  had  thrown  my  helmet  on  the  grass.  I  picked 
it  up  to  find  it  beset  with  ants.  I  tried  to  beat 
them  out  of  the  lining  by  pounding  the  hat 
against  the  side  of  the  temple.  The  effort  broke 
loose  a  roach  infested  board. 

We  grinned  at  each  other  a  little  shamefacedly 
when  we  were  safely  out  into  the  sunshine  of  the 
highroad.  We  had  not  stayed  to  argue  in  the 
temple  yard.  As  we  stood  thus  vanquished  and 
ejected,  two  peasants  came  passing  by.  They 
looked  at  us,  then  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  temple 


60  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

roof  above  the  low  trees,  and  then  eyed  us  again. 
They  mumbled  a  word  or  two.  Perhaps  they 
were  trying  to  tell  us  that  an  accursed  goblin 
had  stolen  over  their  shrine  to  be  the  abode  of 
insects  and  crawling  things.  I  was  not  so  sure 
that  I  had  not  seen  the  glowing  eyes  of  a  goblin 
staring  malevolently  at  us  from  the  cracks  of 
the  shogi  when  I  turned  to  look  back  over  my 
shoulder  as  we  fled. 

For  a  long  way  my  blood  welcomed  the  sun. 
The  road  led  down  into  a  broad  valley  to  become 
later  little  more  than  an  interminable  bridge 
across  the  terraced  paddy  fields.  The  rice  had 
sprouted  but  had  not  grown  rank  enough  to 
block  the  mirror  surface  of  the  water  from  throw- 
ing back  the  heat  rays.  Ahead  were  low-lying 
hills  with  higher  slopes  beyond  and  from  the  map 
we  thought  that  over  that  barrier  would  be  the 
broad  plain  across  which  we  would  find  the  road 
leading  straight  to  Nagoya. 

There  was  one  ambition  to  luxury  which  we 
always  possessed — when  we  chose  a  rest  spot  we 
wished  one  of  comfort  and,  if  it  could  be  included, 
also  that  it  should  have  a  view.  Curiously, 
owners  of  land  do  not  seem  to  endeavour  to 
provide  such  rest  places  for  sensitive  travellers, 
at  least  to  be  obtrusive  at  any  exact  second  when 


'  THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES  "      61 

desired.  We  had  taken  seven  or  eight  miles 
across  the  valley  at  an  unusually  accelerated  pace 
since  our  last  attempt  at  a  rest.  Messages  from 
the  cords  of  our  legs  were  telling  us  to  concede 
some  compromise  to  our  particularity.  However, 
we  continued  walking  and  searching  without  pay- 
ing attention  to  the  messages.  The  grass  patches 
always  disclosed  little  ant  hills  upon  close  inspec- 
tion and  the  occasional  heaps  of  stones  to  be 
found  were  never  under  the  shade.  That  obsti- 
nacy of  ours  was  of  the  stuff  ambition  should  be, 
and  finally  its  persistency  met  due  reward.  We 
found  a  wide,  shady  platform  built  against  a 
long  building,  half  house,  half  granary.  The 
building  flanked  the  road  at  a  bend  and  as  we 
made  the  turn  we  could  see  the  family  of  the 
house  lying  on  the  floor.  An  old  man  was  tell- 
ing an  elaborate  story  and  his  listeners  were  so 
intent  upon  the  tale  that  none  of  them  hap- 
pened to  look  up  to  see  us.  The  platform  was 
out  of  their  vision  and  we  thougnl  that  we 
might  rest  there  with  the  comfortable  feeling 
that  trespassing  does  not  exist  unless  dis- 
covered. 

The  tale  that  was  being  told  was  undoubtedly 
humorous.  The  daughters  of  the  family  were 
hard  struggling  with  laughter.  The  men  were 


62  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

emphasizing  their  approval  by  pounding  on  the 
rim  of  the  charcoal  brazier  with  their  iron  pipes. 
All  were  repeating  a  continuous  hei,  hei.  But 
there  was  a  baby,  and  the  baby  was  not  so  much 
interested  in  the  story  as  he  was  in  a  butterfly. 
He  suddenly  betook  himself  to  his  dimpled  legs 
and  circled  into  the  road  in  pursuit.  The  whims 
of  the  gyrations  of  the  mighty  hunter  carried 
him  to  a  spot  where  the  next  turn  left  him  facing 
two  foreigners  on  the  platform.  He  stood  with 
feet  apart  and  carefully  lifted  the  corner  of  his 
diminutive  shirt  to  his  mouth  for  more  careful 
cogitation,  as  any  Japanese  child  should  and 
does  do  when  confronted  by  a  kink  in  the  well- 
ordered  running  of  affairs. 

The  mother  called  out  an  admonition  but  there 
was  no  response  from  the  akambo.  She  left  the 
story  to  find  out  what  might  be  the  enchantment. 
She,  too,  began  staring  without  responding  to 
admonitions.  Another  head  bobbed  around  the 
corner  post  and  then  another  and  another  until 
finally  the  teller  of  the  tale  himself  forsook  the 
realm  of  fancy  for  fact  and  followed  after  his 
audience.  We  said  "O-hayo!" — which  is  good- 
morning — and  they  said  "  O-hayo!"  After  that 
their  rigid  attention  included  everything  from 
our  hats  to  our  boots.  Then  in  a  body  they 


"THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES"      63 

walked  back  into  the  house  and  were  quiet  except 
for  the  most  hushed  of  whispers. 

'  Two  trespassing  strangers  are  about  to  re- 
ceive some  mark  of  respect,"  said  O-Owre-san. 

"  Respect  of  being  told  to  move  on,  most 
likely,"  was  my  more  worldly  judgment. 

"  How  about  betting  a  foreign  dinner  to  be 
paid  in  Yokohama  before  the  boat  sails?"  asked 
O-Owre-san. 

I  took  the  wager,  and  lost. 

The  old  man  who  had  been  the  teller  of  the 
story  now  reappeared.  He  was  somewhat  em- 
barrassed but  at  each  step  of  his  approach  he 
had  a  still  broader  smile.  He  was  short  and 
he  was  thin,  with  lean,  knotted  muscles.  His 
limbs  had  grown  clumsy  from  heavy  toil. 
His  face  was  squat  as  if  in  his  malleable  infancy 
some  evil  hand  had  pressed  his  forehead  down 
against  his  chin.  One  piece  of  cloth  saved  him 
from  nudity.  He  was  a  coolie  of  generations 
of  coolies,  but  despite  his  embarrassment  and 
despite  his  clumsy  limbs,  the  very  spirit  of  gra- 
ciousness  created  a  certain  grace  as  he  placed 
a  tray  before  us.  He  backed  away  with  low 
bow  succeeding  low  bow.  The  tray  held  a  pot 
of  tea  and  two  cups  and  some  thin  rice  cakes. 

Good  man,   he   fortunately   never  knew  what 


64  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

an  argument  his  gift  precipitated!  My  opponent 
began  it  all  by  suggesting  that  we  leave  a 
twenty  sen  silver  piece  on  the  tray.  I  disputed. 

"A  cup  of  tea  is  of  such  slight  cost  to  the 
giver,"  was  my  eloquent  and  disputatious  argu- 
ment, "that  by  being  of  no  price  it  becomes 
priceless  and  thus  is  a  perfect  symbol  of  a  com- 
plete gift  in  an  imperfect  world.  Japan  has  this 
tradition  which  we  have  lost  in  our  own  civiliza- 
tion. This  simplicity  allows  the  poorest  and 
humblest  to  give  a  gift  to  the  richest  and 
mightiest  in  the  purity  of  hospitality.  If  we 
leave  money  on  the  tray  we  are  robbing  the 
peasant  of  his  privilege." 

O-Owre-san  would  have  none  of  my  transcen- 
dentalism. "  By  leaving  money,"  said  he,  "  a  sum 
which  means  no  more  to  us  than  does  the  cup 
of  tea  to  the  peasant,  we  are  making  an  exchange 
of  gifts.  We  know  that  he  is  very  poor.  Twenty 
sen  is  probably  more  than  the  return  for  two 
days  of  his  labour.  It  will  buy  him  a  pair  of 
wooden  geta  or  a  new  pipe,  or  a  bamboo  umbrella 
for  his  wife,  or  such  a  toy  for  the  baby  as  it 
has  never  dreamed  of.  After  giving  our  gift 
we  shall  disappear  down  the  road,  leaving  the 
memory  of  two  ugly  but  generous  foreign  devils." 

There  was  no  dispute  between  us  about  wish- 


"  THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES  "      65 

ing  to  leave  some  gift.  The  final  compromise 
was  somewhat  on  my  side  as  we  gave  a  package 
of  chocolate  to  the  child.  We  carried  the  choco- 
late for  emergency's  sake  and  it  had  cost  several 
times  twenty  sen.  I  do  not  believe  that  Japanese 
children  like  chocolate  and  there  was  more  than 
a  possibility  that  this  highly  condensed  brand 
would  make  the  baby  ill.  Surely  the  deposed 
gods  of  the  ancient  Tokaido  must  have  made 
merry  if  the  news  of  our  analytics  was  carried 
to  their  Valhalla.  Nevertheless  our  present, 
wrapped  in  a  square  of  white  paper  according 
to  the  etiquette  of  gifts,  was  received  by  the 
family  with  as  many  protestations  of  apprecia- 
tion as  if  we  had  handed  them  a  deed  to  per- 
petual prosperity. 

The  rays  of  the  forenoon's  sun  when  we  were 
crossing  the  valley  of  the  rice  fields  had  sent  up 
heat  waves  from  the  dust  of  the  road  until  the 
road  itself  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  quaking  pitch 
and  roll.  We  were  now  in  the  full  glory  of  the 
noontide.  I  was  becoming  somewhat  disturbed 
over  certain  phenomena.  Trees  and  rocks  and 
houses  fell  into  the  dance  of  the  heat  waves  with 
an  undignified  stagger.  Sometimes  the  bushy 
trees  reeled  away  in  twos  and  threes  where  but 
a  moment  before  I  had  seen  but  one.  The  most 


66  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

disconcerting  part  of  the  development  was  my 
peculiar  impersonal  interest  and  study  of  my 
own  distress.  I  knew  that  my  eyes  were  aching 
and  I  knew  that  the  trees  were  really  standing 
still.  I  had  the  perfect  duality  of  being  fasci- 
nated by  the  day  and  thus  not  wishing  to  be 
any  place  else  in  the  world  and  yet,  as  I  said, 
of  being  extremely  disturbed  by  the  preliminary 
overtures  of  a  sunstroke.  We  had  had  about 
two  hours  of  climbing  since  we  left  the  house 
of  the  rice  farmer  and  we  were  on  the  summit 
of  the  last  high  hills.  Immediately  ahead  the 
rocky  path  dropped  sharply  down  into  the  plain. 
A  rest-house  marked  the  point  where  the  climb- 
ing changed  to  the  descent.  I  suggested  a  halt. 

The  rest-house  was  more  than  a  peasant's  hut. 
It  was  easy  to  believe  that  in  more  aristocratic 
days  it  had  been  an  inn  of  some  pretension. 
Now  it  was  a  spot  for  weary  coolies  to  throw 
down  their  heavy  packs  for  a  few  minutes'  rest 
in  its  shade  by  day  or  by  night  to  curl  up  on 
the  worn  mats.  We  walked  into  the  deepest 
recess  of  the  entrance  before  we  sat  down.  I 
could  look  beyond  a  half-folded  screen  into  the 
kitchen.  The  polished  copper  pots  and  the  iron 
and  bronze  bowls  were  not  of  this  generation; 
probably  to-morrow's  will  find  them  on  a  museum 


«  THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES  "      67 

shelf  or  cherished  in  some  antique  shop.  How- 
ever, I  had  no  desire  to  discover  curios  nor  did 
I  have  any  preference  whether  the  inn  was  old 
or  new,  nor  whether  it  had  been  its  fortune  to 
entertain  daimyos  or  pariahs.  We  first  asked 
for  something  to  drink.  The  hostess  dragged 
up  a  bucket  from  the  well  and  brought  us  bottles 
of  ramune  which  had  been  cooling  in  the  depths. 
I  drank  the  carbonated  stuff  and  then  pushed 
my  rucksack  back  along  the  mat  for  a  pillow 
and  closed  my  eyes  for  a  half-hour's  blissful 
forgetfulness.  When  I  awoke  the  throbbing 
under  my  eyelids  had  passed  away  and  for  the 
first  time  I  really  looked  at  our  hostess.  She 
was  kneeling  beside  us  and  was  slowly  fanning 
our  faces. 

Her  teeth  were  painted  black,  as  was  once  the 
fashion  for  married  women.  She  had  known  both 
toil  and  poverty,  but  it  was  not  a  peasant's  face 
into  which  I  looked.  Her  thin  fingers  and 
wasted  forearms  found  repose  in  the  lines  which 
the  ancient  artists  were  wont  to  copy  from  the 
grace  of  Old  Japan.  Her  calm  face  was 
beautiful. 

It  was  time  that  we  should  make  our  way 
down  the  rocky  path.  She  brought  us  tea  be- 
fore we  went.  The  bill  for  everything,  as  I 


68  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

remember,  was  about  seven  cents.  We  left  a 
silver  coin  beside  the  teapot.  She  began  to  tell 
us  that  we  had  made  a  mistake.  We  told  her  no. 
Shielded  by  an  unworldly,  intangible  delicacy, 
I  doubt  whether  any  rudeness  of  her  guests  ever 
became  sufficiently  real  to  her  to  disturb  her 
passivity  or  her  emotions,  but  such  a  guardian- 
ship presents  a  thin  callous  against  sympathy. 
As  we  said  good-bye  a  sudden  sense  of  human 
mutuality  smote  the  three  of  us,  an  experience 
of  sheer  bridging-over  intuition  which  sometimes 
comes  for  a  second. 

The  absolute  relaxation  had  so  marvellously 
driven  out  the  devils  from  my  eyes  that  I  did 
not  even  tell  O-Owre-san  of  my  hallucinations. 
To  make  up  for  our  lingering  we  pushed  on 
through  the  villages  without  stopping  to  wander 
into  temple  grounds  or  to  explore  by-ways. 
Between  a  misreckoning  of  miles  on  our  part 
and  some  misinformation  which  I  gathered  from 
a  peasant,  we  reached  the  rather  large  town  of 
Siki  an  hour  earlier  than  we  had  hoped.  As  we 
strolled  through  the  main  street,  we  saw  several 
inns  which  might  well  have  given  us  comfortable 
shelter,  but  I  sensed  that  the  traveller  at  my  side 
was  waiting  for  some  bubbling  of  inspiration. 
I  kept  silent,  an  expiation  for  having  carried 


'THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES"      69 

a  disproportionate  number  of  points  that  day. 
We  continued  walking.  I  could  see  the  fringe 
of  the  first  rice  field  ahead.  My  faith  was  begin- 
ning to  waver  but  before  I  erred  by  showing  it 
O-Owre-san  stopped  abruptly  and  inquired  the 
Japanese  word  for  inn.  He  then  asked  for  one 
or  two  other  words  and  adjectives.  Thus  armed 
he  stepped  into  a  shop,  the  appearance  of  which 
had  perhaps  been  the  stimulus  to  his  inspira- 
tion. 

The  shop  had  glass  windows  and  a  glass  door. 
It  was  the  most  metropolitan  example  of  com- 
mercial progressiveness  which  we  had  seen  since 
we  left  Kyoto.  In  fact,  compared  to  the  other 
shops  of  Siki  it  had  as  haughty  an  exclusiveness 
as  any  portal  along  New  Bond  Street  seeks  to 
maintain  over  possible  rivals.  Looking  through 
the  glass  of  the  door  we  discovered  that  the  floor 
was  not  covered  with  matting.  Such  a  last  touch 
of  foreignism  meant  that  one  could  walk  in  with- 
out taking  off  one's  dusty  boots.  I  do  not  re- 
member that  we  ever  again  found  this  detail  of 
Western  culture  outside  the  port  cities.  In  the 
heart  of  the  most  isolated  mountain  range  the 
most  lonesome  charcoal  burner  knows  three 
things  about  the  foreigner:  that  he  is  hairy  like 
the  red  fox;  that  he  has  a  curious  and  barbarous 


70  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

custom  known  as  kissing;  that  his  boots  are  part 
of  his  feet. 

Into  this  shop,  then,  O-Owre-san  walked  with- 
out having  to  undo  his  bootlaces.  There  was 
also  an  aristocratic  glass  counter  and  under  the 
glass,  in  show  trays,  were  gold  watches.  Behind 
this  counter  sat  a  young  man  in  a  kimono  of  black 
silk.  His  face  was  pale,  ascetic,  and  contempla- 
tive. He  smiled  and  bowed  in  formal  hospitality. 
The  grace  of  such  a  bow  comes  from  centuries 
of  saying  yes  instead  of  no.  A  cultured  Japa- 
nese, almost  any  Japanese,  never  flatly  contradicts 
unless  to  deny  another's  self-derogatory  state- 
ment. The  iiye  (used  as  "no")  is  rarely  heard 
and  the  carrying  over  of  the  omnibus  hei,  hei,  or 
the  more  polite  sayo,  into  the  English  yes  often 
brings  consternation  to  the  Westerner  seeking 
accurate  information. 

O-Owre-san  said,  "  Please,  good  inn  "  (directly 
translated).  As  if  the  pale  and  ascetic  seller 
of  gold  watches  was  accustomed  daily  to  having 
perspiring  foreigners  with  packs  on  their  backs 
inquire  for  this  information,  he  bowed  again  and 
smiled  and  said,  "Hei,  hei!"  This  time  the  hei, 
hei  did  mean  yes.  He  drew  his  kimono  tighter 
about  his  hips  and  adjusted  his  silken  obi,  and 
walked  out  of  the  shop  with  us.  Apologizing 


14  THE  FURNACE  OF  HADES  "      71 

for  the  necessity  of  going  before,  he  piloted  us 
through  turns  of  the  street  to  the  gateway  of 
an  inn.  Calling  for  the  mistress  he  made  a 
dignified  oration  of  introduction,  and  backed 
away  from  our  sight  with  innumerable  apprecia- 
tions for  the  honour  of  being  asked  to  be  of 
service. 


IV 

THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS 

THE  experiences  of  the  second  of  our  Japanese 
Nights'  Entertainments  were  as  impersonal,  as 
far  as  the  inn's  paying  special  attention  to  us 
was  concerned,  as  the  first  evening's  had  not 
been.  The  police  record  was  brought  to  us  with 
an  English  translation  of  the  questions  and  we 
wrote  the  answers  without  complication.  The 
incidents  which  may  develop  in  one  inn  quite 
naturally  have  a  wide  variation  from  the  happen- 
ings which  may  arise  in  another,  but  the  general 
machinery  of  hospitality  differs  but  little.  There 
is,  in  fact,  far  less  contrast  in  the  essentials  of 
comfort  between  the  ordinary  provincial  inn  and 
the  native  hotels  of  the  first  order  in  Tokyo  or 
Kyoto  than  there  is  to  be  found  in  a  like  com- 
parison of  hotels  in  our  civilization;  even  it  might 
be  said  that  the  simple  and  fundamental  artistry 
of  the  shelter  which  houses  the  peasant  in  Japan 
has  in  its  possession  the  root  forms  of  the  taste 
which  charms  in  the  homes  of  the  cultured. 

Immediately   after   we   had   applied   ourselves 

72 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS      73 

to  the  police  record  and  had  had  our  steaming 
hot  bath,  a  ne-san  brought  the  small  dinner  tables. 
If  ever  this  particular  maid  had  enjoyed  the 
frivolity  of  laughter  for  laughter's  sake,  she  had 
long  since  banished  any  such  promotion  of  irre- 
sponsible dimples  from  the  corners  of  her  mouth, 
although  it  should  be  stated  that  she  was  far 
from  having  arrived  at  an  age  to  provoke  a  sol- 
emn and  serious  outlook  upon  life.  Her  eyes 
wandered  up  to  the  ceiling  and  around  the  edges. 
She  was  bored.  Furthermore  she  appeared  dis- 
tressed at  having  to  witness  the  table  errors  of 
ignorant  foreigners.  We  insulted  the  honour- 
able rice  by  heaping  sugar  upon  it  and  we  drank 
cold  water  when  we  should  have  sipped  tea.  We 
asked  for  a  few  extras  to  the  menu.  She  re- 
peated over  our  words,  caught  in  amazement 
that  we  could  change  the  barking  sounds  through 
which  we  found  communication  with  each  other 
into  the  music  of  Nikon  speech.  We  asked  if 
she  were  not  afraid  of  barbarous  foreigners,  but 
she  rather  contemptuously  rejoined  that  she  could 
see  no  reason  for  being  afraid  in  the  shelter  of 
her  own  inn.  I  then  concocted  from  the  diction- 
ary an  elaborate  sentence  which  asked  whether 
her  expectation  of  how  fearsome  a  foreigner  might 
be  was  excelled  by  the  examples  in  flesh  and 


74  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

blood  before  her.  The  truth  of  her  obvious  con- 
viction and  the  sense  of  required  politeness  of 
hospitality  struggled  each  for  utterance  with  such 
disconcerting  effect  that  she  used  her  turned-in 
toes  to  patter  away  down  the  flight  of  stairs  and 
we  saw  our  disapprover  not  again  until  she  came 
to  spread  the  beds. 

We  had  planned  to  explore  the  shops  of  Siki 
by  lantern  light  after  dinner  but  the  two  beds 
so  aggressively  allured  us  that  we  never  stepped 
over  them.  The  coverings  were  the  usual  heavy 
quilts  buttoned  into  sheets.  Such  a  combination 
coverlet  is  generally  long  enough  for  the  foreign 
sleeper  as  the  Japanese  habit  on  cold  nights  is 
to  disappear  completely  under  the  layer,  but  at 
the  inn  in  Siki  for  some  reason  the  length  was 
decidedly  curtailed  and  the  mattresses  were  cor- 
respondingly short.  However,  at  the  end  of  such 
a  day  of  fire  as  we  had  had  I  was  contemptuous 
of  such  limitations.  I  expected  to  sleep  on  the 
quilt  and  not  under  it. 

For  an  hour,  covered  only  by  my  cotton 
kimono,  I  knew  the  comfort  of  airy  rest.  Then 
I  awoke  to  a  sensation  I  had  almost  forgotten. 
I  was  chilled  through.  I  entered  upon  a  cam- 
paign of  trying  to  get  back  to  sleep  by  wrapping 
the  abbreviated  quilt  about  my  shoulders.  The 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    75 

far  from  satisfactory  result  was  that  my  legs 
were  left  dangling  in  the  chill  drafts  while  the 
protected  upper  surfaces  melted.  Next  I  essayed 
a  system  of  sliding  the  quilt  up  and  down,  exe- 
cuting retreats  from  too  copious  perspiration. 
This  procedure  met  with  some  success  but  the 
required  watchfulness  was  hardly  a  soporific.  I 
called  myself  a  tenderfoot.  Some  slight  appre- 
ciation of  how  ridiculous  it  all  was  destroyed  any 
high  tragedy  of  self-sympathy  but  it  could  not 
keep  me  from  loathing  O-Owre-san  for  breathing 
so  tranquilly.  Finally  I  got  up,  determined  to 
force  my  ingenuity  to  find  some  balance  between 
such  excesses.  Then  I  saw  that  O-Owre-san's 
eyes  were  wide  open. 

I  know  not  what  the  temperature  of  that  room 
was  in  actual  Fahrenheit  degrees,  but  too  many 
truth-tellers  have  secretly  confided  to  me  that  they 
have  found  just  such  uncanny  nights  in  Japan 
to  disbelieve  that  the  midnight  "  Hour  of  the 
Rat "  has  not  at  times  a  malignancy  independent 
of  mere  thermometer  readings.  That  night  was 
neither  cold  nor  hot;  it  was  both  and  it  was  both 
at  the  same  instant.  My  skin  had  been  flushed 
to  a  mild  fever  from  its  long  bath  in  the  sun's 
rays,  but  the  flesh  beneath  now  grew  iced  when 
not  swaddled  beneath  the  furnace  of  the  quilt. 


76  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

My  inspiration,  after  sitting  for  a  time  and 
studying  all  the  possible  materials  in  the  room, 
was  to  build  a  tent.  I  was  so  successful  that 
I  hurled  a  defiance  at  the  "  Hour  of  the  Rat," 
and  for  another  half-hour — perhaps  it  was — I 
again  knew  the  positiveness  of  sleep. 

The  Japanese  believe  that  they  are  a  silent 
people.  That  faith  is  one  of  the  supreme  mis- 
beliefs of  the  world.  Before  dinner,  when  we 
were  sitting  on  our  narrow  balcony,  we  had  said 
good-evening  to  a  circle  of  young  men  who  were 
lounging  on  cushions  in  the  large  room  next  to 
ours.  Later  they  dressed  and  went  out  and  we 
forgot  them.  I  awoke  to  hear  through  the  thin 
wall  that  they  had  returned.  They  were  holding 
a  Japanese  conversation.  Such  a  conversation 
can  only  be  described  by  telling  what  it  is  not. 
In  rhythm  it  is  neither  the  caesura  of  the  French 
peasant  woman  retailing  gossip,  nor  is  it  the 
eluding  tempo-harmonic  tune  of  the  Red  Indian 
drum  beat;  it  is  not  the  Chinese  intoning  nor 
is  it  a  staccato.  At  first  the  foreign  ear  does 
not  distinguish  the  beat  of  the  cadences  but  once 
captured  the  appreciation  of  the  subtle  metrical 
wave  is  never  again  lost.  We  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  full  orientation  that  night.  The  paper 
wall  was  but  a  second  tympan  to  our  ears. 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    77 

Their  conversation  as  an  entity  was  a  musical 
composition  effected  without  counterpoint  and 
played  by  the  instruments  in  succession.  First 
there  was  a  swing  of  phrases  from  one  speaker, 
and  then  after  a  decorous  and  proper  dramatic 
pause  there  was  an  answering  swing  from  an- 
other. No  speaker  was  interrupted.  The  right 
of  reply  was  passed  about  as  if  it  were  as  physi- 
cally tangible  as  a  loving  cup. 

There  was  one  distinct  suggestion  from  the 
monotony  of  it  all  above  every  other  impression, 
a  something  absolutely  alien  to  any  Occidental 
conversation.  While  they  talked  and  drank  tea 
and  drank  tea  and  talked,  I  twisted  about  under 
my  tent  puzzled  to  solve  what  that  impression 
was.  Suddenly  I  found  words  to  express  to  my- 
self the  sought-for  revelation.  The  effect  of  a 
long  Japanese  conversation  is  that  of  voiceful 
contemplation.  Separated  from  them  physically 
only  by  a  paper  wall,  we  belonged  to  another 
world,  a  world  which  has  ordered  its  existence 
without  finding  contemplation  and  its  manifesta- 
tions a  necessary  adjunct. 

The  mosquitoes,  which  all  night  had  kept  up 
a  noisy  circling  over  our  net,  flew  off  at  day- 
break. Some  speaker  spoke  the  concluding  word 
in  the  next  room  and  for  a  few  minutes  the  uni- 


78  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

verse  was  quiet.  Then  came  the  high  shrieking 
of  the  ungreased  axles  of  coolie  carts  being 
dragged  to  the  rice  fields.  I  took  my  quilt  and 
cushions  out  onto  the  balcony.  The  inn  began 
waking  up.  Down  in  the  garden  two  kitchen 
maids  appeared.  They  were  arousing  their  en- 
ergy by  dipping  their  faces  into  brass  basins  of 
cold  well  water.  I  left  my  balcony  and  wan- 
dered below  to  find  a  basin  for  myself. 

The  inn  had  filled  during  the  night  with  guests 
of  all  descriptions  and  ranks.  They  were  coming 
forth  from  under  their  quilts.  A  ne-san  stepped 
to  the  wellside  and  filled  a  basin  for  me  and  then 
ran  off  to  find  a  gift  toothbrush.  Another  maid, 
lazily  binding  on  her  obi,  stayed  her  dressing  for 
a  moment  to  pour  cool  water  from  a  wooden 
dipper  over  my  head  and  neck.  Getting  up  o' 
the  morning  is  a  social  cooperation  in  a  Japa- 
nese inn. 

Breakfast  came.  After  breakfast  I  sat  down 
on  the  balcony  cushions  to  smoke  and  to  breathe 
the  delicious  morning  air  and  I  promptly  went 
to  sleep.  I  wished  to  go  on  sleeping  forever  and 
to  let  the  world  work,  or  walk,  or  talk,  or  do 
anything  it  might  choose  to  do,  but  O-Owre-san 
appeared,  saying  that  he  had  paid  the  bill.  He 
had  stuffed 'our  presents  into  his  rucksacks  and 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    79 

had  had  the  dramatic  farewells  to  himself.  After 
one  has  accepted  a  going-away  present,  one  goes. 
Tense  good-byes  do  not  brook  recapture.  The 
super-wanderer  is  thus  forbidden  ever  to  retrace 
his  steps.  For  him  alone,  his  life  being  always 
the  anticipation  of  the  next  note  of  the  magic 
flute,  does  the  present  become  real  by  eternally 
existing  as  a  becoming.  He  will  not  pay  the 
price  for  contentment,  which  is  to  re-live  and  re- 
think the  past. 

When  we  at  length  reached  Nagoya,  where 
the  government  bureau  records  temperatures 
scientifically,  we  learned  that  the  week  had  been 
really  one  of  extraordinary  heat.  Among  other 
symptoms  of  the  week,  deranged  livers  and 
prickly  irritation  had  inspired  angry  letters  in 
the  readers'  columns  of  the  foreign  newspapers, 
belabouring  everything  native,  particularly  the 
casual  discarding  of  clothing.  A  newspaper 
editor  told  us  that  such  attacks  of  hyper-sensi- 
tiveness over  nudity  come  not  to  foreigners  newly 
arrived  nor  to  those  residents  who  sanely  tak? 
long  vacations  back  to  their  homelands  (where 
they  may  have  the  rejuvenation  of  themselves 
being  homogeneous  with  the  masses),  but  to  the 
conscientious  unfortunates  who  remain  too  long 
at  their  posts.  Round  and  about  them  for  the 


80  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

twenty-four  hours  of  the  day  and  the  seven  days 
of  the  week  surges  the  sea  of  native  life.  The 
feeling  of  lonesome  strangeness,  which  can  never 
be  entirely  lost  by  the  foreigner,  feeds  on  its  own 
black  moods  and  this  poisonous  diet  suddenly 
nourishes  a  dull  hatred.  Then  come  the  bitter 
letters  to  the  press  demanding  that  the  Japanese 
reform  themselves  into  Utopian  perfection  and 
threatening  that  unless  they  so  do  the  foreign 
guests  of  the  empire  will  assemble  in  convention 
and  design  an  all-enveloping  bag  (with  a  draw- 
ing string  to  be  pulled  tight  about  the  neck  of 
the  wearer)  as  a  national  costume  for  their  hosts 
for  evermore. 

If  hot  days  in  the  port  cities,  where  there  is 
some  mild  regulation  of  costume,  can  bring  such 
disturbances  of  mind  to  anxiously  missioning  folk, 
we  thought  that  it  was  as  well  that  they  were  not 
walking  with  us  that  day  through  the  villages  of 
the  broad  plain  which  slopes  from  Mount  Kei- 
soku  to  Ise  Bay.  It  was  before  we  were  out  of 
the  hills  that  our  road  carried  us  through  a  grove. 
A  stone-flagged  walk  led  into  the  shadows  of 
the  trees  and  we  could  see  at  its  end  the  begin- 
ning of  a  long  flight  of  stone  steps  which  bespoke 
some  hidden  and  ancient  shrine  beyond.  A  small 
stream  flowed  alongside  the  path  and  cut  our 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    81 

road  under  an  arched  stone  bridge.  We  heard 
shouts  of  laughter  from  the  pines  and  the  next 
moment  an  avalanche  of  children  came  tumbling 
along  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  take  them. 
Some  were  cupids  with  bright  coloured  kimonos 
streaming  from  their  shoulders;  some  did  not 
have  even  that  restraint.  A  tall,  slender  maiden 
was  in  pursuit,  and  the  pursuit  was  part  of  some 
game.  They  dashed  by  us  through  the  light  and 
shadow  and  were  lost  again  in  the  pines. 

It  was  the  reincarnation  of  a  Greek  relief.  In 
that  flash  of  the  moment  in  which  we  saw  them, 
the  glistening  nude  body  of  the  pursuing  girl 
running  through  the  green  and  brown  and  grey 
of  the  grove  was  passionately  and  superbly  the 
plea  of  nature  against  man's  crucifying  purity 
upon  the  cross  of  sophistication. 

I  regretted  to  O-Owre-san  the  having  within 
me  so  much  of  that  very  sophistication  that  I 
had  begun  immediately  to  moralize  upon  such 
a  sheerly  beautiful  vision.  He,  who  had  been 
saying  nothing,  replied  with  an  end-all  to  the 
subject.  '  Your  mild  regret,"  said  he,  "  that 
dispassionate  analysis  has  displaced  passionate 
creativeness  is  the  penalty  you  pay  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  studying  your  own  sadness." 

The   Greeks,   I   believe,  had  for  one  of  their 


82  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

two  axioms  by  which  they  covered  the  conduct  of 
wise  living,  "  No  excess  in  anything."  I  had 
very  fearlessly  compared  the  young  girl  to  a 
Greek  relief,  but  when  we  were  out  of  the  hills 
and  were  in  the  meaner  villages  of  the  plains 
I  began  to  feel  the  truth  of  that  Greek  dictum 
that  people  can  mix  too  much  practice  into  a 
theory,  especially  when  it  comes  to  an  overwhelm- 
ing surrender  to  naturalness.  I  lost  my  en- 
thusiasm for  my  so  shortly  before  uttered  pane- 
gyric of  a  world  naturally  and  unconsciously 
nude.  I  began  to  understand  a  new  meaning 
in  the  artist's  cry  of  "  Give  me  Naples  and  her 
rags ! "  Especially  the  rags !  Upon  some  occa- 
sions art  and  sensibility  need  the  rags  far  more 
than  does  morality. 

All  this  argument  was  with  myself  as  O-Owre- 
san's  dismissal  of  my  tentative  first  offering  on 
the  subject  had  not  been  encouraging  to  further 
communication.  I  then  proceeded  to  a  further 
step  in  my  private  debate  and  queried  whether 
in  the  selection  of  clothes,  to  be  truly  practical, 
man  would  not  be  served  better  by  trusting  to 
comfort  rather  than  to  either  art  or  morality; 
and  then  I  came  upon  the  thought  that  comfort 
has  no  strength  to  resist  convention  when  they 
collide,  and  as  convention,  with  the  guile  of  the 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS     83 

serpent,  always  makes  much  pretension  of  riding 
in  the  same  omnibus  with  virtue,  perhaps  after 
all  the  true  wisdom  of  life  is  to  stay  close  to 
convention  and  thus  one  will  be  pretty  sure  to 
reach  Journey's  End  in  good  shape.  I  men- 
tioned my  change  of  heart  to  O-Owre-san  as  we 
were  sitting  down  in  the  shade  of  a  ramune  shop, 
where  unabashed  nudity  had  gathered  in  a  circle 
to  regard  the  foreigners.  He  did  not  seem  to 
be  moved  to  interest  by  my  reformation.  I 
heaped  a  malediction  on  his  head.  Surely  if 
I  were  willing  to  rearrange  my  opinions  seven 
times  daily  at  some  one  stage  he  might  agree. 

It  was  during  this  rest  that  I  came  upon  the 
happiest  adventure  that  the  mouth  of  man  may 
hope  to  experience  in  this  imperfect  world.  I 
had  been  thirsty  from  that  first  day  in  the  East 
when  I  had  begun  breathing  in  Manchurian 
dust.  In  Peking  I  had  tried  to  cool  my  throat 
by  every  variety  of  drink  offered  through  the 
mingling  of  Occidental  and  Oriental  civilizations. 
In  Korea,  a  certain  twenty-four  hours  of  wander- 
ing alone  and  lost  among  the  baked  and  arid 
mountains  had  further  augmented  the  parching 
of  my  tongue — an  increasement  which  I  had  be- 
lieved to  be  impossible.  Along  the  Tokaido  we 
were  free  to  drink  as  much  chemical  lemonade 


84  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

as  our  purse  could  buy  and,  despite  the  warnings 
of  all  red-bound  guide  books,  we  drank  the  water. 
But  never,  since  the  beginning  of  my  thirst,  had 
I  found  a  liquid  worth  one  word's  praise  as  a 
quencher,  neither  water  nor  wine,  neither  ramune 
nor  tea.  I  have  irreverently  forgotten  the  name 
of  the  village  of  the  discovery. 

As  we  sat  resting  in  the  ramune  shop  I  looked 
about  and  saw  some  champagne  cider  bottles  of 
unusually  large  size.  The  quantity  rather  than 
the  flavour  of  that  particular  chemical  combina- 
tion was  the  appeal.  I  asked  for  two  of  the 
bottles;  making  the  request  to  a  maid  who  was 
hoisting  a  flag  over  the  door.  The  flag  had  a 
single  Chinese  character  printed  on  it.  It  was 
a  sign  which  I  later  learned  to  distinguish  from 
incredible  distances.  After  flinging  out  the  flag, 
she  took  down  two  bottles  from  the  shelf  but 
instead  of  opening  them  she  smiled  with  a  beam- 
ing which  came  from  the  secure  faith  that  she 
was  bearing  good  news. 

"  Kori  wa  ikago  desu?  "  she  asked. 

The  concluding  three  words  are  among  the 
first  to  be  learned  from  the  phrase  book  and  mean 
"Do  you  wish?"  The  word  kori  I  remembered 
from  its  having  been  one  of  the  extras  of  our 
first  night.  It  means  "  ice."  We  said  yes,  that 


THE  KORI  (ICE)  FLAG  OF  THE  "ADVENTURER" 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS     85 

we  would  like  ice,  but  in  our  ignorance  we  spoke 
with  no  marked  ebulliency.  She  smiled  again 
and  sat  down,  folding  her  arms  in  her  kimono 
sleeves,  an  equivalent  of  that  expression  of  con- 
tented virtue  shown  when  our  own  housewives 
peacefully  wrap  their  hands  in  their  aprons. 

That  the  flag  above  the  door  had  some  definite 
meaning  for  the  villagers  began  to  be  most  evi- 
dent. The  shop  was  filling.  Mob  expectancy  is 
contagious  and  we  found  ourselves  waiting  tensely 
with  no  clear  idea  what  we  were  waiting  for. 
The  shop  was  now  quite  full  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  to  the  street.  We  heard  shouts  from  the 
outside  that  were  almost  banzais,  and  a  coolie 
came  running  in.  His  face  was  aflame  from  the 
happy  look  of  completed  service.  He  was  carry- 
ing a  dripping  block  of  ice  in  many  wrappings 
of  brown  hemp  cloth.  I  do  not  know  how  far 
he  had  come  with  the  ice.  Perhaps  he  had  been 
to  some  station  of  the  distant  railroad.  The 
maid  took  her  hands  from  her  kimono  sleeves 
and  seized  the  ice.  She  pulled  off  the  wrappings. 
Next  she  took  a  saw  and  cut  off  an  end  from  the 
cake.  Another  maid  re-wrapped  the  precious 
remainder  in  the  hemp  cloth  and  buried  it  in  a 
pit  dug  in  the  floor.  A  third  maid  had  been 
standing  by  with  a  board  which  had  a  sharp  knife 


86  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

edge  set  into  it.  The  first  maid  scraped  the  end 
of  the  ice  cake  over  this  inverted  plane  and 
shavings  of  sparkling  snow  fell  into  her  hand. 
She  packed  this  whiteness  into  two  large,  flat, 
glass  dishes.  She  poured  into  the  snow  the  effer- 
vescing champagne  cider  and  brought  us  the 
"  adventure." 

An  adventure  is  an  adventure  in  proportion 
to  the  emotion  aroused.  For  days  without  end 
thirst  had  been  sitting  astride  my  tongue.  Just 
as  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea  fastened  his  thighs 
around  Sindbad's  neck  and  then  kicked  the  poor 
man's  ribs  mercilessly  with  his  heels,  so  had  my 
parasite  tickled  my  throat  with  his  toes.  To  have 
unthroned  my  tormentor  at  the  beginning  of  his 
companionship  would  have  been  a  sensuous  satis- 
faction. To  do  so  after  having  known  the  abysses 
of  abject  slavery  was  an  ecstasy  exceeding  the 
dreams  of  lovers. 

I  flushed  the  ice  particles  around  in  my  mouth 
until  my  eyes  rolled  in  my  head.  O-Owre-san 
was  alarmed  into  protests.  I  had  no  time  to 
listen.  I  ordered  another  bowl  of  snow  and  an- 
other bottle.  It  was  costing  sen  after  sen  but 
I  knew  in  my  soul  that  if  I  had  to  beg  my  rice 
to  get  to  Yokohama  and  had  to  sleep  under 
temple  steps,  even  if  the  price  for  the  snow  thus 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS     87 

beggared  me,  the  uttermost  payment  could  be  in 
no  proportion  to  the  value. 

The  fertile  plain  through  which  the  Tokaido 
now  wound  was  crowded  with  the  sight  of  man. 
A  few  houses  always  clustered  wherever  a  rise 
in  the  ground  could  lift  them  above  the  water  of 
the  rice  fields.  The  paddy  toilers,  digging  with 
their  hands  around  the  rice  roots,  worked  in  long 
lines,  men  and  women,  with  their  bodies  bent  flat 
down  from  their  hips  against  their  legs.  If  they 
noticed  our  passing  and  looked  up,  we  would  say, 
"It  is  hot!"  and  they  would  say,  "It  is  hot!" 
Finally  an  avenue  of  scrub  pines  brought  shade 
and  I  declared  for  a  siesta.  Our  first  attempt 
gave  way  before  a  horde  of  ants.  We  tried  re- 
laying the  top  stones  of  a  heap  of  boulders  and 
then  climbed  up  on  that  edifice,  going  to  sleep 
quite  contentedly.  When  I  yawned  into  wake- 
fulness  I  looked  lazily  around  the  landscape 
wondering  where  I  was.  I  felt  queer ly  and 
strangely  alone.  It  was  not  that  the  sound  of 
breathing  from  under  O-Owre-san's  helmet  had 
ceased.  He  had  not  become  a  deserter,  but  while 
we  were  sleeping  every  peasant  in  the  fields  had 
disappeared.  There  can  be,  then,  a  degree  of 
heat  under  which  a  coolie  will  not  labour,  and 
we  had  found  the  day  of  that  heat. 


88  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

In  the  next  village  we  discovered  our  labourers 
again.  They  were  lying  on  the  floors  of  their 
open-sided  houses,  the  elders  motionless  except 
for  the  deep  rising  and  falling  of  their  breasts 
and  an  arm  lifted  now  and  then  in  desultory 
fanning.  The  children,  however,  were  restless 
enough  to  be  startled  into  gazing  at  the  two 
strangers  who  were  walking  the  gauntlet  of  the 
narrow  street. 

We  had  seen  an  ice  flag  over  a  shop  at  the 
very  entrance  to  the  town  but  O-Owre-san  sug- 
gested that  there  would  surely  be  another  shop 
farther  along.  I  accepted  his  reasoning  but  there 
was  not  another  kori  flag  to  be  found  anywhere. 
We  had  reached  the  last  house.  The  sign  over 
the  shop  we  had  passed  was  at  least  a  mile  back 
along  that  burning  white  canon.  O-Owre-san 
stopped  in  at  the  last  house  to  beg  some  well 
water.  I  looked  at  the  water  and  thought  of 
the  ice. 

"  If  there  ever  was  any  ice  back  there,"  said 
he,  "  it's  melted  by  this  time." 

I  was  venomous.  I  left  my  luggage  and 
started  back. 

The  children,  maybe,  had  been  telling  their 
parents  of  the  sight  that  they  had  missed,  a  sight 
which  might  never  come  again.  The  grinding 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS     89 

of  my  heels  this  time  brought  a  somewhat  larger 
audience  to  their  elbows.  They  appeared  appre- 
ciative of  my  second  appearance.  I  staggered 
on  and  on,  mopping  my  head  with  a  blue  and 
white  gift  towel.  I  felt  in  my  limbs  the  exact 
strength  that  would  carry  me  to  that  kori  shop, 
but  to  have  had  to  go  a  foot  beyond  might  well 
have  meant  an  experience  in  hallucinations  which 
I  had  no  wish  to  know. 

An  old  man,  who  grinned  toothlessly,  dug 
down  into  a  sawdust  pit  and  exhumed  a  fair- 
sized  cake  of  ice.  He  moved  about  his  work 
grotesquely  as  if  he  were  an  animated  conceit 
of  carved  ivory  quickened  into  life  for  a  moment 
by  the  hyper-heat.  He  at  last  gave  me  a  bowl 
of  snow  with  sprinkled  sugared  water  over  it. 
I  munched  the  ice  for  a  full  half-hour.  As  I 
slowly  grew  cooler  the  crowd  about  me  slowly 
grew  larger.  They  stood  silently  staring,  always 
staring. 

The  change  for  the  silver  piece  which  I  put 
down  was  a  heap  of  coppers.  It  must  have  weighed 
half  a  pound  or  more.  I  might  not  have  been 
so  generous  if  the  wealth  had  been  more  portable. 
As  it  was,  I  invited  in  two  or  three  boys  from 
the  circle  of  the  crowd.  A  carpenter's  appren- 
tice had  been  sitting  on  the  bench  beside  me. 


90  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

He  had  paid  for  one  bowl  of  snow  which  he  had 
held  close  to  his  lips,  tossing  the  sugar  powdered 
ambrosia  into  his  mouth  with  dexterous  flips  of 
a  tiny  tin  spoon.  He  looked  at  the  ice  supply 
about  to  disappear  into  the  pit  and  I  invited 
him  to  a  further  participation.  He  glanced  at 
me  intensely  for  a  second  as  if  he  wished  to  solve 
by  that  one  glance  every  reason  for  my  existence. 
Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  his  second  bowl, 
which  I  paid  for.  His  hair  was  clipped  close  to 
his  skull.  The  fresh,  youthfully  transparent  skin 
of  his  face  was  stretched  like  a  sheet  of  rubber, 
the  tension  holding  down  his  nose  and  allowing 
his  eyes  to  stare  with  an  openness  impossible  to 
optics  otherwise  socketed. 

Just  how  the  round,  cannonball  head  of  the 
Japanese  boy  evolutes  into  the  featured  physiog- 
nomy of  the  Japanese  man  is  puzzling.  It  must 
be  a  sort  of  bursting.  The  schoolboy's  eyes  be- 
tray the  passing  moods  of  his  emotions,  but  there 
is  always  something  beyond  the  mood  of  the 
moment  in  his  gazing,  an  intangible  yearning  for 
infinity.  It  must  at  times  be  terrifying  for  an 
Anglo-Saxon  teacher  or  missionary  to  face  those 
eyes.  Such  a  victim  may  find  respite  by  swear- 
ing in  the  court  of  all  that  is  practical  and  mate- 
rial that  the  mere  physical  strangeness  of  the 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    91 

deep  staring  has  bewitched  him.  He  is  wise  if, 
by  clinging  to  analysis  of  the  objective  world, 
he  can  restrain  all  passion  to  disturb  such  mys- 
teries— otherwise  he  may  be  led  into  a  voyage 
such  as  that  of  Urashima  to  the  enchanted  island. 
And  then,  if  ever  he  seeks  to  return  to  his  West- 
ern identity,  he  may  find  that  the  world  which 
he  once  knew  has  died  and  that  he  stands  neither 
wedded  to  the  daughter  of  the  Dragon  King  nor 
possessing  the  substance  of  his  former  self. 

I  was  thus  dreamily  communing,  studying  the 
face  of  the  carpenter's  apprentice.  It  was  he 
who  recalled  me  from  such  heat  born,  mental 
wanderings  by  finishing  his  ice,  picking  up  his 
kimono  and  throwing  it  over  his  shoulder,  and 
walking  off  with  the  air  of,  "  Well,  you  ice 
dreamer,  I  have  been  with  you  for  a  moment, 
but  now  I  have  work  to  do  in  the  world."  I 
followed  after  him  and  walked  out  again  into 
the  fiery  street. 

I  can  swear  that  the  ice  had  cooled  me  back 
to  the  normal.  I  felt  myself  a  part  of  the  obvious 
world.  I  had  banished  the  disease  known  as  the 
imagination.  I  was  doing  the  most  practical 
thing  for  the  moment,  going  back  to  my  rucksack. 
But  I  can  also  swear  that  the  real  world  was 
most  unfairly  unreal.  Great-grandfathers  and 


92  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

great-great-grandmothers,  who  had  passed  so 
far  along  on  their  journey  through  life  that  prob- 
ably they  had  given  up  hope  of  ever  again  seeing 
anything  new  and  worldly  strange  to  interest 
them,  had  been  carried  to  the  fronts  of  the  houses 
to  behold  the  outlander.  It  was  as  if  I  had  not 
come  to  see  Japan  but  Japan  had  been  waiting 
long  and  patiently  to  see  me,  a  parading  manikin 
in  a  linen  suit  and  yellow  boots  and  a  pith  helmet. 
The  naked,  old,  old  women,  their  ribs  slowly 
moving  under  their  dried  skin  as  if  breathing 
and  staring  were  their  last  hold  upon  the  temporal 
world,  knelt,  supported  by  their  children,  on  the 
mats.  Walking  slowly  by  I  felt  that  I  was  the 
sacrificial  pageant  of  the  ceremony  for  their  final 
surrender.  There  was  not  a  sound  from  their 
lips.  I  began  to  have  a  sense  of  remarkable 
completeness,  that  I  was  a  single  figure  with  no 
possible  replica.  It  was  not  until  I  saw  O-Owre- 
san's  blue  shirt  that  I  was  able  to  snap  the  thread 
which  was  leading  me  not  out  of  but  into  the 
tortuous  labyrinth  of  such  speculative  folly. 

"  I  was  just  going  back  to  look  for  you,"  said 
he,  "I  thought  you  must  have  had  a  sunstroke." 

It  seemed  just  then  an  unnecessary  and  a  too 
complicated  endeavour  to  explain  the  minute  dif- 
ference between  standing  with  one's  toes  on  the 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    93 

edge  of  the  calamity  which  he  had  feared  for  me 
and  the  actuality  of  toppling  over  the  precipice. 
Thus  I  merely  replied  that  I  was  feeling  all 
right. 

Some  tribes  of  men  have  in  their  dogma  that 
the  beard  must  never  be  trimmed.  I  am  able  to 
imagine  that  O-Owre-san  would  carry  a  sympa- 
thetic understanding  always  with  him,  no  matter 
among  what  races  he  might  go  adventuring,  ex- 
cept into  the  society  of  the  disbelievers  in  beard 
trimming.  He  demands  an  extreme  exactitude 
in  the  trimming  of  his  own  beard  which  proclaims 
the  existence  of  a  certain  precise  flair  of  idealism. 
This  flair  may  be  seen  manifested  in  him  also 
in  such  croppings  out  as  his  appreciation  for 
flawless  cloisonne.  The  fact  that  he  had  dis- 
covered a  barber  shop  and  had  not  made  imme- 
diate use  of  his  find  was  overwhelming  proof  that 
he  had  been  really  solicitous  about  me.  Now 
that  I  had  returned  he  made  no  further  delay 
but  sat  down  in  the  chair.  I  stretched  out  on 
the  matting  to  wait.  The  barber's  daughter 
brought  cushions  and  placed  them  under  my  head 
and  then  knelt  at  my  shoulder  to  send  scurry- 
ing breaths  of  cool  air  from  her  fan  across  my 
face. 

When  I   awoke   O-Owre-san  was   paying  the 


94  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

barber's  charge.  It  amounted,  if  I  remember, 
to  three  sen,  or  perhaps  three  and  one-half  sen. 
Whatever  it  was  the  now  properly  trimmed 
kebuksi  foreigner  left  four  sen  and  one-half  from 
his  honourable  purse,  and  there  was  another  cop- 
per or  two  as  thanks  to  O-Momo-san  for  the 
gentle  medicine  of  her  fan. 

The  barber's  clippers,  which  he  had  used  with 
such  art,  had  perhaps  cost  four  yen.  If  so,  they 
would — as  may  be  determined  by  simple  division 
— require  at  least  one  hundred  similar  payments 
before  the  return  to  the  barber  of  their  initial 
cost;  and  there  were  the  razors,  and  the  chair, 
and  the  shining  cups  and  bottles,  all  representing 
capital  outlay;  and  there  must  have  been  rent 
to  pay.  There  are  three  demi-gods  of  the  East 
and  only  under  their  reign  lies  the  answer.  Great 
is  rice,  that  it  satisfies  the  hunger.  Great  is  cot- 
ton, that  it  clothes  the  limbs.  Great  is  art,  that 
it  can  build  the  home  from  the  simple  bamboo. 
The  barber  jingled  the  four  sen  and  a  half  be- 
tween his  palms,  and  the  jingle  was  the  music 
that  sings  of  the  buying  of  the  rice,  the  cotton, 
and  the  bamboo.  There  is  mystery  and  magic 
in  economics;  and  there  is,  in  the  submission  of 
man  to  recognize  money  as  a  medium  of  exchange 
and  in  his  cooperating  to  maintain  that  recogni- 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    95 

tion  by  law  and  force,  the  greatest  story  in  the 
world. 

The  barber  ceased  jingling  the  coins  and 
dropped  them  into  a  drawer.  His  daughter  re- 
mained kneeling,  her  wistful,  gentle  head  bowed 
low  in  good-byes.  She  had  been  silent  but  I 
imagined  that  I  knew  two  of  her  thoughts — no, 
I  should  say,  two  of  her  moods.  One  was  quite 
obvious.  She  had  been  amused  (it  was  an  ad- 
venture in  its  way)  to  fan  to  sleep  a  foreign 
guest.  But  the  other  mood,  born  of  dreaming, 
was  asking  where  the  road  led,  which  those 
strange  visitors  were  striking  out  upon,  stretching 
away  into  the  distance  as  does  the  march  into 
the  beyond  of  life. 

We  were  talking  idly  one  day  with  a  maid 
in  a  certain  inn.  Her  name  was  O-Kimi-san, 
and  she  was  pretty  in  the  flush  of  youth,  and 
"  very  pretty  anyhow,"  as  O-Owre-san  critically 
observed.  Her  feet  were  quick  as  sunshine  when 
she  ran  for  our  dinner  trays,  or  to  bring  tea 
instantly  to  our  room  upon  our  coming  in  from 
the  street,  or  to  fetch  glowing  charcoal  to  our 
elbow  if  we  should  wish  to  smoke,  and  her  fingers 
were  cunning  in  all  the  other  little  luxuries  of 
service.  She  was  saving  money,  she  said,  for 
the  wedding  which  might  be,  but  as  she  had 


96  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

neither  father  nor  mother  to  arrange  a  marriage 
she  added  quite  simply  that  she  was  only  hoping 
to  be  married.  She  desired  to  wed  a  merchant, 
with  a  shop  of  his  own,  having  a  little  room 
upstairs  over  the  bazaar  so  that  the  good  wife 
might  be  able  to  run  down  and  attend  to  cus- 
tomers between  domestic  duties.  She  declared 
an  antique  shop  would  be  the  best,  for  one  can 
buy  nowadays  from  the  wholesalers  such  won- 
derful, not-to-be-detected  imitations.  But  her 
eyes  grew  sad.  It  was  not  within  reason  to  hope 
that  a  merchant  with  such  a  shop  would  ever 
love  a  dowerless  girl,  and  it  was  taking  so  long 
to  save  the  capital  herself.  Why,  one  of  the 
maids  of  the  inn  had  been  there  sixteen  years! 
If  she  had  only  three  hundred  yen  the  heaven 
upon  earth  might  be  hers. 

I  know  that  O-Momo-san,  the  daughter  of  the 
barber,  when  she  sat  wondering  what  lay  beyond 
the  farthest  distance  she  could  see  along  the  road, 
was  not  imagining  a  little  shop,  where  between 
domestic  cares  she  could  take  time  to  wait  upon 
customers. 

It  is  for  the  imagination  of  dreaming  O-Momo- 
san  that  the  priests  light  the  incense  at  the  sacred 
altar;  it  is  for  practical  O-Kimi-san  that  they 
read  the  traditional  advice  from  the  theology  of 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    97 

moral  maxims.  The  Marys  and  the  Marthas  I 
The  cherry  blossoms  are  a  bloom  of  mysterious 
beauty  for  the  daughter  of  the  barber;  they  are 
a  symbol  of  gay  festival  time  for  the  practical 
maid  of  the  inn.  Will  it  be  the  end  for  the 
daughter  of  the  barber  of  Kasada  to  marry  her 
father's  apprentice  and  to  live  on  in  the  little 
shop,  dreaming  until  dreams  slumber  and  are 
forgotten,  knowing  only  this  of  the  old  Tokaido 
that  it  leads  away  in  a  straight  line  until  it  is 
lost  in  the  brilliant  blur  of  the  sun  on  the  waters 
of  the  rice  fields?  Or  will  her  imagining  heart 
know  adventure  in  the  world  beyond  the  vision 
of  her  doorstep?  Perhaps  the  sen  will  come  so 
slowly  to  the  barber's  drawer  that  the  wistful 
daughter  will  be  sold  to  a  geisha  master,  and  in 
filial  piety,  fulfilling  the  contract,  she  may  go 
even  to  Tokyo  where  she  will  be  taught  to  sing 
and  to  dance  and  to  laugh  gaily.  She  may  find 
that  life  is  kind.  Again,  she  may  be  sold  to 
another  life — under  the  juggernaut  of  poverty — 
and  in  the  Nightless  City  knowledge  will  come 
to  dwell  in  the  empty  place  where  wistfulness 
was. 

We  walked  away  from  Kasada  along  the  un- 
changing road;  one  blade  of  rice  was  like  an- 
other, one  step  was  like  another,  finally  one 


98  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

thought  became  like  another.  Nagoya  was  many 
miles  ahead.  O-Owre-san,  the  tramper,  is  of  the 
faith  which  holds  that  to  give  in  to  a  stretch  of 
road  just  because  it  is  dull  is  to  surrender  for 
no  reason  at  all.  That  is  good  doctrine.  I  have 
something  of  it,  but  my  hold  upon  the  faith  is 
admixed  with  a  Catholicism  which  does  not  pre- 
clude the  restful  and  inward  harmony  of  main- 
taining speaking  acquaintance  with  several  con- 
flicting beliefs.  On  the  other  hand  O-Owre-san 
will,  simply  and  unostentatiously,  subordinate  his 
preferences,  but  the  surrender  is  so  generous  that 
that  virtue  is  usually  a  protection  in  itself  against 
applied  selfishness.  To  escape  any  disagreeable 
feeling  of  shame  I  thought  it  might  be  that 
O-Owre-san  could  be  induced  to  make  the  sug- 
gestion himself  that  we  take  some  more  rapid 
means  of  transportation.  We  were  in  the  land 
of  jiu-jitsu.  The  fundamental  idea  of  this  system 
is  that  you  politely  assist  your  opponent  to  throw 
himself.  I  began  by  alluding  to  the  thrills  and 
possibilities  of  the  antique  shops  of  Nagoya.  If 
we  should  continue  walking  we  could  not  reach 
there  until  late  at  night,  and  if  we  should  find 
Kenjiro  Hori  waiting  for  us  and  prepared  to  be 
off  early  the  next  morning,  when  would  there 
be  time  for  exploring?  I  then  ventured  casually 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS    99 

that  the  railroad  would  take  us  to  Nagoya  in  a 
couple  of  hours.  Imagination  began  to  work  as 
my  ally.  O-Owre-san  at  last  queried  directly 
whether  I  would  be  willing  to  give  up  walking 
in  the  country  for  exploration  in  the  city.  I 
yielded.  Thus,  when  the  arrogant  Tokaido  of 
steel  crossed  our  road,  as  the  map  had  told  me 
it  soon  would,  two  foreigners  with  rucksacks 
found  places  amid  teapots  and  babies,  bundles 
and  ever  fanning  elders,  and  soon  they  saw  the 
tall  smokestacks  of  modern  Nagoya. 

Our  kit  of  clean  linen  and  clean  suits  had  been 
forwarded  from  Kyoto  in  care  of  the  foreign 
hotel.  Perhaps  we  each  had  had  the  idea  when 
the  bag  was  packed  that  we  would  be  exceed- 
ingly content  to  catch  up  with  it  again,  not  alone 
for  the  contents  but  in  anticipation  that  the  find- 
ing would  mean  that  we  would  be  again  sur- 
rounded by  the  comfort  of  Western  standards 
exotically  flourishing.  Alas  for  the  stability  of 
our  tenet!  We  were  aware  that  our  capitulation 
to  the  simplicity  of  the  native  inns  sprang  partly 
from  the  glamour  of  the  new,  but  the  conquest 
had  come  from  realization  and  not  mere  anticipa- 
tion. Dilettantes  we  were  truly,  and  as  such 
we  acknowledged  ourselves,  but  we  should  be 
credited  that  we  escaped  the  eczema  of  reformers. 


100  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

We  had  no  obsession  to  hasten  back  to  our  own 
land  to  argue  the  multitudes  out  of  the  custom 
of  wearing  shoes  in  the  house  or  sitting  on  chairs 
instead  of  floors.  Nevertheless  when  we  walked 
into  the  door  of  the  hotel  and  up  the  stairs  every 
tread  of  our  heavy,  dusty  boots  struck  at  our 
sensibility  of  a  better  fitness  and  order. 

We  walked  along  the  upstairs  hall  and  passed 
a  room  with  wide  open  double  doors.  There 
was  Kenjiro  Hori  waiting  for  us;  that  is,  a 
semblance  of  O-Hori-san  was  there,  his  material 
body.  When  a  Japanese  sleeps  his  absorption 
by  his  dream  hours  is  so  complete  that  one  is 
tempted  to  believe  that  his  so-called  waking  hours 
(no  matter  how  manifested  in  energy)  may  be 
only  a  hazy  interim  between  periods  of  a  much 
more  important  psychic  existence.  We  walked 
into  the  room  and  sat  down  and  talked  things 
over  and  waited  for  the  opening  of  Hori's  eye- 
lids, but  they  moved  not.  O-Owre-san  at  last 
departed  to  seek  treasure  trove  in  the  antique 
shops  and  I  decided  for  the  laziness  of  a  bath. 

I  asked  for  a  hot  bath.  The  bath  boy's  uni- 
form was  starched  and  new,  and  he  was  starched 
and  new  in  his  position  as  drawer  of  water.  He 
was  very  proud  of  such  responsibility  and  was 
very  earnest  and  very  smiling.  In  some  other 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS  101 

occupation  he  had  picked  up  a  little  English. 
He  promised  to  hurry.  Minutes  went  by.  Above 
the  sound  of  the  running  of  the  water  I  could 
hear  a  mysterious  pounding  and  scraping.  This 
combination  of  noises  continued  with  no  regard 
for  passing  time.  Now  and  again  I  pounded 
on  the  door  in  Occidental  impatience.  "  Very 
quick!  Very  quick!"  would  come  his  answer. 
When  the  bolt  did  snap  back  I  could  see  from 
his  perspiring  face  that  he  must  have  been  hurry- 
ing after  some  fashion  of  his  own.  He  bowed 
and  pointed  to  the  tub.  I  put  in  one  foot — and 
out  it  came.  The  water  might  have  come  from 
a  glacier. 

UftjKA  If 

"  I  asked  for  a  hot  bath — o  yu,  furo"  I  shouted. 

There  was  no  retreat  of  the  smiles.  They 
even  grew. 

"  Japanese  man,  he  take  hot  bath.  Foreign 
man,  he  take  cold  bath." 

I  now  understood  the  scraping  and  pounding. 
The  hot  days  had  attacked  the  water  tanks  of 
the  hotel  until  the  faucets  marked  "  Cold  "  were 
running  warm.  The  bath  boy  had  been  labori- 
ously stirring  around  a  cake  of  ice  in  the  tub. 
Blandly  came  the  repetition,  "  Foreign  man,  he 
take  cold  bath." 

For  the   sake   of   sweet   courtesy   and   kindly 


102  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

appreciation  I  should  have  sat  down  in  that 
water,  but  I  did  not.  I  pulled  out  the  stopper 
and  drew  a  hot  tub.  When  the  boy  realized  this 
sacrilege  against  the  custom  of  the  foreign  man, 
he  veritably  trembled  from  the  violence  of  the 
restraint  which  he  had  to  put  upon  himself,  but 
his  idea  of  courtesy  was  so  far  superior  to  mine 
that  he  retreated.  I  bolted  the  door  against  him. 
O-Owre-san  returned  from  his  field  with  en- 
raptured accounts.  There  is  some  sort  of  affinity 
between  him  and  a  bit  of  treasure.  He  is  the 
hazel  wand  and  the  antique  is  the  hidden  water, 
but  as  a  human  divining  rod  he  does  not  merely 
bend  to  magnetism,  he  leaps.  My  first  initia- 
tion to  that  knowledge  had  been  so  sufficiently 
striking  that  no  new  evidences  ever  surprised  me. 
That  initiation  had  come  when  we  were  riding 
one  Sunday  morning  on  the  top  of  a  tram  in  the 
cathedral  city  of  Bath.  We  were  in  the  midst 
of  a  discussion.  Half  way  through  a  sentence 
he  suddenly  lifted  himself  over  the  rail  and  dis- 
appeared down  the  side  of  the  car.  When  I 
could  finally  alight  more  conventionally  I  ran 
back  to  find  him  with  his  nose  against  a  dull 
and  uninviting  window.  From  the  top  of  the 
tram  he  had  seen  within  the  shadows  a  chair. 
There  was  no  arousing  the  antique  shop  on  Sun- 


THE  MILES  OF  THE  RICE  PLAINS  103 

day  and  thus  he  left  a  note  of  inquiry  under  the 
door  and  eventually  that  particular  treasure, 
wrapped  in  burlap,  made  its  long  journey  to 
America. 

He  began  discussing  the  treasures  of  Nagoya 
when  in  walked  Hori. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  got  by  my  door,"  said  he. 
'Weren't  you  asleep?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  dozing,"  he  explained. 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO 

WE  had  an  hour  to  kill  before  dinner  and  we 
were  irritably  moody  against  the  foreign  win- 
dows which  gave  us  no  breeze.  "  It's  housely 
hot/'  said  O-Owre-san,  and  he  sighed  pathetically 
for  the  cool  mats  of  an  inn  floor  where  there 
would  be  a  pot  of  freshly  brewed  tea  at  his  elbow 
and  a  green  garden  to  look  out  upon.  I  was 
studying  a  map  of  Japan,  tracing  out  its  rivers 
and  mountains. 

I  have  an  inordinate  passion  for  maps.  Surely 
Stevenson  had  some  such  passion.  I  venture 
that  he  first  thought  of  the  pirate's  chart  of 
"  Treasure  Island  "  and  after  that  first  imagina- 
tion the  story  simply  wrote  itself.  Particularly 
does  passion  find  satisfaction  in  one  of  the  old 
Elizabethan  maps,  printed  in  full,  rich  colours, 
the  margins  portraying  the  waves  of  the  sea  with 
dolphins  diving,  and  with  barques  straining  under 
bellied  sails.  Some  are  headed  for  the  Spanish 
Main,  and  others  are  striking  out  for  the  regions 
marked  "  Unknown."  Those  old  Elizabethan 

104 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    105 

maps  could  have  been  drawn  only  in  the  days 
of  hurly-burly  England  when  the  deep-chested 
seamen  under  Raleigh  and  Drake  sang  savage 
sea  songs  in  the  taverns  and  the  tingling  life  in 
a  man's  veins  was  worth  its  weight  in  adventure. 
No  wonder  that  to-day,  with  our  pale,  litho- 
graphed maps  telling  us  the  exact  number  of 
nautical  miles  to  the  farthest  coral  island  we  have 
become  analytic  and  scientific.  As  Okakura  said, 
'  We  are  modern,  which  means  that  we  are  old." 
Nevertheless,  a  pale,  errorless,  unemotional  map 
is  better  than  no  map  at  all. 

The  particular  map  of  Japan  which  I  was 
studying  had  had  a  few  mysteries  added  in  the 
printing  which  were  not  to  be  blamed  upon  the 
geographer.  The  different  colours  had  been  laid 
on  by  the  printer  with  marked  independence  of 
registration.  It  was  difficult  to  trace  even  the 
old  Tokaido,  but  imagination  from  practical  ex- 
perience told  me  that  when  it  followed  the  coast 
it  led  through  miles  and  miles  of  rice  fields. 
Farther  up  on  the  map,  in  the  mountain  ranges 
above  Nagoya,  I  saw  a  blurred  word  and  turn- 
ing the  sheet  on  end  I  read  "  Nakescendo." 

The  word  brought  a  remembrance.  I  began 
trying  to  piece  together  what  that  memory  was. 
At  last  I  assembled  a  forgotten  picture  of  a 


106  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

Japanese  whom  I  had  once  met  on  a  train.  In 
the  beginning  I  had  thought  him  a  modern  of 
the  moderns  until  he  told  me  of  his  sacred  pil- 
grimages. It  was  my  surprise,  I  suppose,  in  his 
tale  of  his  tramping,  staff  in  hand,  with  the 
peasants  that  had  made  me  so  distinctly  remem- 
ber his  earnestness  as  he  mouthed  the  full  word 
"  Nakescendo."  I  rolled  over  on  the  bed  with 
my  finger  on  the  map  and  asked  Hori  if  he  had 
ever  heard  of  the  Nakescendo. 

Hori  looked  up  in  surprise  as  if  I  had  rudely 
mentioned  some  holy  name.  "  All  day,"  said  he, 
"  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  Nakescendo."  Then 
he  told  us  how  the  Nakescendo  road  enters  the 
mountains  through  the  valley  of  the  beautiful 
Kiso  river  and,  following  the  ranges  first  to  the 
north  and  then  to  the  east,  takes  its  way  to 
Tokyo.  In  the  era  before  railroads  it  was  a 
great  arterial  thoroughfare  and  in  those  feudal 
days  the  daimyos  of  the  north  and  their  retainers 
journeyed  the  Nakescendo  route  with  as  much 
pomp  as  did  their  southern  rivals  along  the 
Tokaido.  Nevertheless  the  Nakescendo  now 
exists  in  history  as  the  less  famous  thoroughfare 
of  the  two.  Hori  suggested  that  the  dimming 
of  its  fame  may  have  come  because  its  ancient 
followers  had  cherished  its  beauty  with  such  in- 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    107 

tensity  that  they  did  not  allow  their  artists  to 
paint  it  nor  their  poets  to  sing  of  it  to  the  world, 
in  the  belief,  perhaps,  that  all  objective  praise 
could  be  but  supererogation. 

I  had  most  of  this  imagining  from  Hori's 
understatements  rather  than  from  anything  defi- 
nite that  he  said.  He  is  of  the  samurai  and  his 
ancestors  learned  the  art  of  conversation  in  a 
court  circle  devoted  to  the  graces.  The  incom- 
pleted  phrase  of  the  East  so  subtly  makes  one 
an  accessory  in  the  creation  of  the  idea  involved 
that  we,  of  the  West,  who  live  in  a  world  of 
overstatement,  find  ourselves  disarmed  to  deny. 
One  cannot  discount  words  that  have  never  been 
uttered. 

I  added  to  Hori's  words  some  definite  phrases 
from  my  own  imagination.  These  were  to  in- 
fluence O-Owre-san  if  possible.  I  knew  that  it 
had  been  his  long  held  dream  to  walk  the  Tokaido 
from  end  to  end,  but  I  had  not  realized  until  I 
saw  his  dismay  at  my  suggestion  of  a  change 
how  ardent  his  dream  had  been.  I  had  recklessly 
prophesied  the  mountains  of  the  Nakescendo  to 
be  the  abode  of  spring  among  other  praises.  It 
could  not  be  denied  that  whatever  the  Tokaido 
was  or  was  not,  the  rice  fields  that  had  to  be 
crossed  would  not  be  springlike. 


108  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

We  slept  over  such  argument  as  we  had  had. 
The  next  day  burst  in  the  glory  of  a  burning 
sun,  which  was  rather  an  argument  on  the  side 
of  the  mountain  faction.  The  breakfast  butter 
melted  before  our  eyes.  O-Owre-san  finished  his 
marmalade  and  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  then 
casually  capitulated.  '  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  we 
are  going  to  the  mountains,  what  are  we  waiting 
for?"  What  indeed?  I  ran  upstairs  to  our 
room  and  pulled  off  my  hotel-civilization  clothes 
and  stuffed  them  into  the  bag  and  labelled  it 
for  Yokohama.  There  was  to  be  no  more  formal 
emerging  into  the  seiyo-jin's  world  for  us  until 
we  should  reach  that  port  of  compulsion. 
O-Owre-san  was  less  exuberant  in  his  packing 
but  he  cheerfully  whistled  some  air — which  was 
indeed  forgiving — and  as  usual  was  ready  before 
I  was. 

Hori's  travelling  kit  had  evidently  bothered 
him  not  at  all.  A  half-dozen  collars,  two  or  three 
books,  one  or  two  supplementary  garments,  and 
a  straw  hat  were  tied  up  in  a  blue  and  orange 
handkerchief  and  this  furoshiki  was  tied  to  the 
handlebars  of  a  bicycle.  Until  we  met  the  bi- 
cycle we  had  talked  of  the  problems  and  plans 
of  the  three  of  us,  but  from  the  instant  of  pro- 
duction there  was  no  gainsaying  that  there  were 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    109 

four  of  us.  Further,  the  really  colourful  and 
unique  personality  among  the  four  partners  of 
the  vagabondage  was  that  diabolical,  mechanical 
contraption. 

In  making  that  machine,  the  manufacturer, 
without  possibility  of  dispute,  had  achieved  the 
supremacy  of  turning  out  the  most  consistently 
jerry-built  affair  since  the  beginning  of  time. 
He  merits  first  immortality  both  in  any  memo- 
rialization  by  the  shades  of  jerry-builders  who 
have  gone  before  and  in  the  future  from  the 
tribe  as  it  expands  and  multiplies  upon  the  earth. 
The  loose,  and  often  parting,  chain  hung  from 
sprocket  wheels  that  marvellously  revolved  at 
nearly  right  angles  to  each  other.  When  Hori 
mounted  into  the  saddle  the  wheels  fearsomely 
bent  under  his  weight  until  their  circumferences 
advanced  along  the  road  in  ellipses  strange  and 
unknown  to  the  plotting  of  calculus.  The  rims 
scraped  the  mudguards  in  continuous  rattle  as 
if  there  were  not  enough  other  grinding  sounds 
of  despair  coming  from  every  gear  and  bearing. 
In  some  way  those  abnormalities  worked  together, 
acting  in  compensation.  Any  one  of  the  single 
errors  without  such  correspondingly  outrageous 
offset  would  have  been  prohibitive  to  locomotion. 

The  indomitable  spirit  of  the  machine  to  keep 


110  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

going  should  perhaps  be  praised,  but  its  general 
character  was  steeped  in  malevolency  against  all 
human  kind.  It  hated  Hori  no  less  violently 
than  it  did  us  or  strangers.  It  hated  and  was 
hated  and  continued  to  leave  a  trail  of  hatred 
in  its  path  until  a  certain  memorable  day  when 
we  came  to  a  mountain  climb.  While  we  were 
discussing  what  best  could  be  done  for  its  trans- 
port the  proud  spirit  overheard  that  it  would  have 
to  submit  to  being  tied  upon  a  coolie's  back.  It 
rebelled  into  heroic  suicide  at  that  prospect.  It 
committed  hara-kiri.  The  entire  mechanism  col- 
lapsed suddenly  into  an  almost  unrecognizable 
wreck. 

"  When  the  flower  fades,"  says  Okakura 
Kakuzo,  "  the  master  tenderly  consigns  it  to  the 
river  or  carefully  buries  it  in  the  ground.  Monu- 
ments are  even  sometimes  erected  to  their  mem- 
ory." Hori  gave  a  piece  of  money  to  the  coolie 
for  a  reverent  burial  of  the  demon  wheel. 

Our  breakfast  had  really  been  luncheon  and 
after  our  energy  of  packing  and  getting  started 
we  so  indulged  our  time  in  the  shops  on  the 
way  out  of  the  city  that  we  finally  decided  that 
if  we  were  to  get  into  the  mountains  before 
night  we  should  have  to  take  the  train  over  the 
paddy  fields.  The  bicycle,  the  rucksacks,  and  the 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    111 

blue  and  orange  handkerchief,  together  with  the 
owners,  were  crowded  into  an  accommodation 
train.  The  small  engine  puffed  with  the  tempera- 
ment of  a  nervous  pomeranian,  throwing  a  vol- 
canic spume  into  the  air  which  condensed  into  a 
fine  diamond  ash  to  come  back  to  earth  and  to 
stream  into  the  windows  and  then  to  drift,  eddy, 
and  scurry  about  the  seats  and  floor. 

An  accommodation  train  has  the  verve  of  life 
which  the  conventions  of  a  through  express  stifle; 
but  whether  it  be  a  New  England  local  with 
bird  cages,  or  the  Italian  misti  with  priests  and 
snuff  boxes,  nursing  madonnas,  garlic  sandwiches, 
and  chianti  bottles,  or  the  stifling  wooden  boxes 
of  Northern  India  crowded  with  Afridi  and 
Babus,  no  train  in  all  the  world  is  as  domestic 
as  the  Japanese  kisha.  Friends  and  the  friends 
of  friends  come  to  rejoice  in  the  dramatic  formali- 
ties of  farewell.  If  perchance  any  individual 
on  the  platform  is  neither  the  friend  nor  the 
friend  of  a  friend  of  some  departing  one  he 
takes  an  altruistic  pleasure  in  smiling  upon  the 
opportunities  of  others. 

We  bought  our  pots  of  tea  with  tiny  earthen- 
ware cups  attached  and  put  them  on  the  floor 
as  did  everyone  else;  and  we  also  bought  our 
bento  boxes,  of  rice,  raw  fish,  pickles,  seaweed, 
" 


112  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

and  bamboo  shoots,  from  the  criers  of  "  Bento! 
Bento!!  Bento!!!"  The  train  started.  No  one 
was  bored;  the  children  were  not  restless;  and 
we  of  our  carriage  stayed  awake  or  went  to  sleep 
in  every  posture  possible  to  the  flexibility  of 
human  limbs  matched  against  the  rigidity  of 
wooden  seats.  The  babies  came  along  and  be- 
came acquainted  and  we  sent  them  back  to  their 
parents  carrying  gifts  of  cigarettes. 

Curled  up  on  the  seat  across  from  ours,  with 
her  head  resting  on  her  luggage,  was  a  girl  about 
twenty  years  of  age.  She  was  a  Eurasian  and 
was  beautiful  rather  than  pretty.  Now  and 
again  her  graceful  arm  raised  her  fan  but  other- 
wise she  did  not  move.  Her  dark  eyes  returned 
no  curious  glances.  Her  mood  of  mind  and  soul 
seemed  as  frozen  and  hard  as  the  blue  ice  of  a 
mountain  glacier.  It  was  a  passionate  negativ- 
ity, her  defence  against  the  instinct  of  society, 
which  eternally  wages  war  upon  the  hybrid.  It 
is  instinctive,  this  struggle  of  the  race  mass  mind 
against  the  disintegration  of  its  integrity.  She  had 
learned  the  meaning  of  glances.  The  Eurasian 
must  expiate  a  guiltless  guilt.  She  did  not  ask  for 
quarter  in  the  battle ;  far  back  of  that  cold,  defen- 
sive gaze  was  the  strength  of  two  proud  races. 
Character  makes  fate,  said  the  Greeks.  Inevitabil- 


ity  may  make  tragedy.  We  were  to  pick  up  the 
threads  of  old  tales  of  love  and  tragedy  along  the 
valley  of  the  Kiso,  but  in  the  life  of  that  strange, 
fearless,  beautiful  Eurasian  girl  was  the  web 
and  woof  of  a  yet  uncompleted  story.  When 
we  at  last  passed  our  bundles  out  of  the  window 
at  Agematsu  she  had  not  stirred. 

We  had  been  carried  out  of  the  plains  and  night 
was  coming  down.  Hori  voiced  an  inquiry  about 
our  landing  spot.  It  was  indeed  high  time  to 
be  located  some  place  for  dinner  and  the  night. 
Our  indifference  to  particularization  about  our 
landing  had  begun  to  harass  him.  In  Kobe  and 
Nagoya  when  our  surpassing  indefiniteness  had 
come  out  he  had  nodded  and  said,  "yes>"  evidently 
putting  his  faith  in  the  belief  that  there  would 
surely  be  an  eventual  limit  to  such  casualness.  I 
was  slow  to  realize  his  worry  but  when  I  did  some 
primitive  idea  of  justice  told  me  that  his  break- 
ing into  the  inefficiency  of  our  methods  ought 
to  be  more  gentle  and  gradual.  I  whispered 
this  intuition  to  O-Owre-san  and  thus,  when  the 
train  halted  at  the  next  platform,  out  went  our 
luggage  and  we  were  left  standing  to  watch  the 
fiery  cloud  of  cinders  disappear  into  the  blue- 
grey  mist. 

It  had  grown  cold.     The  rain  was  curiously 


114  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

like  snow,  drifting  through  the  air,  seemingly 
without  weight.  There  was  the  beginning  of  a 
path  up  a  slippery  clay  hill,  the  upper  reaches 
of  which  were  lost  in  fog  and  darkness.  Even 
the  short  distances  of  vision,  which  until  then  had 
endured,  succumbed  before  we  had  scrambled 
up  the  hill.  We  made  a  careful  reconnaissance 
with  hands  and  feet  and  found  that  the  mountain 
path  at  the  top  branched  in  several  directions. 
The  town  might  lie  in  any  direction.  For  more 
meditative  cogitation  Hori  carefully  lowered  the 
bicycle  to  its  side  but  unfortunately  there  was 
no  ground  beneath  and  off  it  slid.  We  heard  it 
painfully  scraping  down  the  rocks.  In  Alpine 
fashion  we  had  to  go  after  it.  We  crawled  back 
again  to  stand  in  a  circle  on  the  road,  drenched 
and  mud  covered. 

Dinner,  bed,  and  bath  might  be  within  a  hun- 
dred yards  but  to  take  the  wrong  path  might 
mean  to  wander  until  sunrise.  At  least  so  we 
thought.  Such  a  variety  of  adventure  is  much 
more  interesting  in  retrospect  than  prospect. 
However,  it  was  worse  to  stand  still.  We  started 
on  an  exploration,  craftily  putting  the  bicycle 
next  to  the  precipice.  On  peaceful  days  the  gears 
often  meshed  in  moderate  quietness  but  at  any 
time  when  its  companions  failed  in  omnipotent 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    115 

judgment  they  would  grind  out  a  wailing  reitera- 
tion of:  "I  told  you  so.  I  told  you  so."  We 
were  shuffling  along  to  the  measure  of  that  lamen- 
tation when  suddenly  there  was  a  sparkle  of  light 
ahead.  It  was  from  a  lantern.  The  bearer  was 
a  peasant  bundled  up  in  a  rush  grass  cape.  He 
lifted  the  light  into  our  faces  and  then  gave  a 
single  sharp  cry  of  fear.  Next  he  shut  his  eyes 
tightly  and  was  speechless. 

A  well-balanced  consideration  for  the  rights 
of  one's  brothers  is  intended  for  normal  times. 
Now  that  a  guide  had  offered  himself  to  us  out 
of  the  darkness  we  purposed  to  keep  him,  al- 
though for  a  few  minutes  he  seemed  a  rather  use- 
less discovery.  Hori  managed  at  length  to  pry 
the  man's  eyes  open  with  wet  fingers  and,  then 
with  fair  words  sought  to  persuade  him  that  if 
we  were  not  ghosts  we  obviously  needed  his  help, 
but  that  if  we  were,  then  any  sense  left  in  him 
should  tell  him  that  it  would  be  far  better  to 
listen  to  our  request  to  guide  us  to  an  inn  and 
to  leave  us  there  than  to  risk  our  trailing  him 
to  his  own  home.  He  grasped  Hori's  point.  We 
followed  after  our  guide  and,  as  we  had  sus- 
pected, the  distance  to  the  village  was  only  a  few 
steps.  At  the  threshold  of  the  inn  our  guide 
bolted.  If  he  had  been  cherishing  a  grudge  he 


116  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

should  have  waited  to  see  our  reception.  It  was 
not  pleasing  to  us. 

Hori  advanced  into  the  courtyard  to  engage 
in  Homeric  debate.  The  fog  sweeping  in  strug- 
gled with  the  lights  of  the  lanterns  and  candles. 
The  picture  was  a  theatrical  composition.  There 
were  the  three  rain-soaked,  laden  intruders  fac- 
ing the  maid-servants.  The  maids'  kimono  sleeves 
were  pinned  back  to  their  shoulders  and  their 
skirts  were  gathered  up  through  their  girdles. 
Their  faces  and  limbs  gleamed  in  the  coppery 
light.  The  door  to  the  steaming  kitchen  opened 
on  to  the  courtyard  and  within  its  shadows  the 
pots  and  kettles  hanging  on  the  walls  caught  the 
glowing  flame  of  the  charcoal.  I  suppose  there 
was  not  a  more  honest  inn  in  all  the  land  but 
the  wild,  picaresque  picture  suggested  an  imagin- 
ing by  Don  Quixote  painted  by  Rembrandt  or 
Hogarth  or  Goya.  It  was  a  point  of  immediate 
reality,  however,  which  concerned  us,  and  that 
point  was  that  we  were  so  far  in  the  inn  but  no 
farther,  and  no  farther  did  we  get. 

They  gave  a  reason.  They  said  that  the  inn 
was  full.  It  seemed  so  ridiculous  to  have  had 
such  trouble  in  finding  an  inn  and  then  to  lose  it 
that  O-Owre-san  and  I  began  laughing.  We 
laughed  inordinately,  but  our  barbarous  merri- 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    117 

ment  brought  our  listeners  no  nearer  to  changing 
their  conviction  that  the  inn  was  full.  There 
was  another  inn  farther  down  the  street,  they 
said,  and  we  borrowed  a  lantern  and  a  coolie 
from  them  and  started.  The  coolie  ran  ahead 
and  when  we  arrived  at  the  second  inn  the  mistress 
and  all  her  maid-servants  were  at  the  door.  From 
the  length  of  Hori's  argument  I  became  suspi- 
cious that  we  again  were  not  considered  desirable, 
but  after  a  time  he  turned  and  said:  "It's  all 
right." 

As  soon  as  we  were  in  our  room,  hurriedly  get- 
ting ready  for  the  bath,  I  tried  to  find  out  from 
Hori  what  the  long  debate  was  about,  but  Eng- 
lish is  evidently  much  more  laconic  than  Japa- 
nese. He  summed  it  all  up  by  saying  that  they 
feared  the  inn  was  unworthy  of  foreigners.  Ad- 
mirable busliido!  What  inn  in  the  wide  world 
could  have  been  worhy  of  such  bedraggled  wan- 
derers? However,  once  we  were  allowed  within 
the  walls  and  recognized  as  guests  the  spirit  of 
hospitality  welled  solicitously. 

Listen,  O  dogmatists!  The  joy  of  the  finding 
is  not  always  less  than  the  joy  of  the  pursuit. 
If  there  are  doubters  let  them  seek  the  Nake- 
scendo  trail  and  find  the  second  inn  of  Agematsu, 
there  to  learn  that  no  dinner  that  they  have  ever 


118  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

imagined  can  equal  the  realization  they  will  dis- 
cover inside  the  lacquer  bowls  and  porcelain 
dishes  which  will  be  brought  to  them. 

The  maid  who  had  been  assigned  to  administer 
to  our  comfort  accepted  her  duty  as  a  trust.  She 
was  unbelievably  short,  but  was  very  sturdy. 
Her  broad  face  and  the  strength  of  her  round, 
unshaped  limbs  proclaimed  the  hardy  bloom  of 
the  peasantry.  The  physical,  mental,  and  emo- 
tional unity  which  comes  as  the  heritage  of  such 
unmixed  rustic  blood  is  in  itself  a  prepossessing 
charm.  Our  daughter  of  Mother  Earth  was  as 
maternal  as  she  was  diminutive.  She  might  think 
of  a  thousand  services,  her  bare  feet  might  start 
of  an  instant  across  the  mats  to  respond  to  any 
requests,  but  never  did  she  surrender  one  iota 
of  her  instinctive  belief  that  we,  merely  being 
men,  were  only  luxurious  accessories  for  the  world 
to  possess.  She  was  so  primordially  feminine 
that  she  inspired  a  terrifying  thought  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  society  being  sometime  modelled  after 
the  queendom  of  the  bees. 

She  had  never  seen  a  foreigner  but  she  had 
heard  much  gossip  of  our  strange  customs.  Her 
inquiring  mind  was  intent  upon  verifying  this 
gossip  as  far  as  possible.  She  was  also  very  cu- 
rious about  our  possessions.  She  taught  us  how 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    119 

to  hold  our  chopsticks  and  how  to  drink  our  soup. 
She  told  us  that  we  drank  too  silently.  A  little 
more  noise  from  our  lips,  she  said,  would  show 
that  we  were  appreciating  the  flavour.  She  did 
acknowledge  in  us  some  aptitude  to  learn,  imply- 
ing that  if  a  more  advanced  state  of  culture  had 
existed  in  the  feminine  family  group  of  our  homes 
over  the  seas  we  might  have  been  mothered  into 
some  respectability.  So  saying,  she  arose  sturdily 
to  her  full  height  and  bore  away  the  dinner  tables. 
Then  she  returned  to  make  the  beds,  struggling 
with  the  mattresses  as  might  an  ant  dragging  oak 
leaves. 

When  the  beds  were  finally  laid  she  brought  a 
fresh  brewing  of  tea  and  replenished  the  charcoal 
in  the  hibachi.  She  lighted  our  after  dinner 
cigarettes  for  us  by  pressing  them  against  the 
embers.  She  sat  waiting  until  we  had  dropped  the 
last  stub  into  the  ashes.  Then  guardian  midget 
rolled  back  the  quilts,  ordered  us  to  bed,  tucked 
us  in  carefully,  giving  to  each  impartially  a  good- 
night pat.  Her  day's  work  finished,  assuredly 
her  efforts  entitled  her  to  a  quiet  enjoyment 
of  one  of  the  cigarettes!  She  sat  down  on 
the  foot  of  my  bed  and  deeply  drawing  in  the 
smoke,  blew  it  into  the  air  with  a  sigh  of  con- 
tentment. 


120  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

"  I  have  been  told,"  she  said,  "  that  foreigners 
marry  for  love.  Can  that  be  true? " 

We  assured  her  that  that  custom  existed. 

"  Um-m-m,"  she  pondered.  Our  examination 
was  evidently  of  import.  She  took  another  step  in 
questioning. 

"  But  if  you  married  for  love  how  can  you  be 
happy  to  travel  so  far  away  from  your  wives?" 

She  gasped  at  our  claim  of  non-possession. 

We  made  a  second  insistence  regarding  our 
unsocial  state.  She  did  not  put  aside  her  good 
nature  but  she  berated  us  roundly  for  our  un- 
kindness,  our  lack  of  taste,  in  thinking  that  we 
could  joke  in  such  a  way  just  because  she  was 
a  peasant  girl  in  a  country  inn,  but  when  we 
further  insisted  upon  repeating  our  tale  she  was 
really  hurt.  There  is  a  time,  she  said,  for  joking 
to  come  to  an  end.  If  it  were  always  thus  our 
custom  to  insist  upon  a  joke  long  after  it  had 
been  laughed  at  and  appreciated,  then  she  did 
not  believe  that  she  had  excessive  pity  for  our 
wives  and  children  in  their  being  left  behind 
while  we  wandered. 

She  then  dismissed  us  from  her  questioning 
and  appealed  exclusively  to  Hori.  She  could  un- 
derstand that  if  we  had  been  forced  to  marry 
by  parental  social  regulation  and  had  been  united 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    121 

to  wives  whom  we  did  not  and  could  not  love, 
perhaps  it  would  be  quite  within  reason  that  we 
should  wish  to  have  vacations  in  singleness,  but 
to  have  had  the  privilege  of  marrying  for  love 
and  then  to  be  wandering  alone — oh,  it  was  un- 
under  standable . 

"  Well,"  said  Hori  mysteriously,  "  I  think  that 
what  they  have  said  is  the  truth  but  it  may  not 
be  all  the  truth.  In  their  country  certain  desper- 
ately wicked  criminals  are  not  allowed  the  privi- 
lege of  marrying." 

There  is  a  glamour  which  hangs  over  the  no- 
toriously wicked.  The  maid's  glances  were  now 
modified  by  appropriate  awe  into  distinct  respect. 
She  got  up,  and  endeavouring  for  dignity  built  a 
tower  out  of  the  scattered  cushions.  She  climbed 
upon  this  shaky  height  and  turned  out  the  light. 
Then  she  hurried  away  to  the  backstairs  regions 
with  her  tale. 

In  the  morning  it  was  raining.  When  we  got 
up  we  could  hear  no  sounds  below  and  when  we 
went  to  the  bath  there  were  no  maids  to  fill  the 
brass  basins.  Hori  wandered  off  to  the  kitchen 
to  find  hot  water  and  we  did  not  see  him  again 
until  after  our  maid,  very  heavy -eyed,  had  brought 
the  breakfast  tables  to  our  room.  He  came  as 
the  bearer  of  two  items  of  information  which  he 


122  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

had  gleaned  from  the  mistress.  The  first  was 
that  there  had  been  a  council  sitting  on  our  mor- 
als, presided  over  by  our  maid,  which  had  lasted 
through  the  hours  of  the  night.  The  second  item 
was  the  truthful  reason  why  we  had  been  turned 
away  from  the  first  inn  and  the  confirmation  of 
our  suspicions  that  we  had  gained  admittance 
where  we  were  only  by  an  extremely  narrow  mar- 
gin. 

Once  upon  a  time  two  foreigners  had  passed 
through  Agematsu  and  had  been  received  as 
guests  in  one  of  the  inns.  That  advent  had  been 
so  many  years  before  that  a  new  generation  of 
mistresses  and  maids  had  succeeded  the  victims 
of  the  marvellous  invasion,  but  the  legend  of  that 
night  of  terror  had  been  handed  down  undimmed. 
"  And  what  do  you  think  was  their  unspeakable 
atrocity?  "  Hori  asked  dramatically.  ef  They  made 
snowballs  from  the  rice  of  the  rice  box  at  dinner 
and  threw  them  at  each  other  and  at  the  maids! " 

From  time  to  time,  through  the  mountains, 
we  heard  again  the  legend  of  those  two  remark- 
able seiyo-jins.  We  grew  to  have  an  admiration 
for  knaves  so  lusty  in  their  revels  that  they  could 
leave  behind  such  a  never  fading  flower  of  mem- 
ory. They  must  have  gone  forth  to  their  travels 
minutely  familiar  with  the  code  of  Japanese 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    123 

etiquette,  so  thoroughly  were  they  skilled  in  frac- 
turing it.  A  riot  might  have  been  forgiven,  and 
forgotten,  but  not  the  throwing  of  rice  on  the 
floor.  The  one  constant  forbidding  under  which  a 
child  is  brought  up  finally  leaves  no  process  of 
thought  in  the  brain  that  anyone  could  ever  in- 
tentionally offend  against  the  cleanness  of  the 
matting.  It  is  less  a  gaucherie  to  set  fire  to  a 
friend's  house  and  burn  it  to  the  ground  than  to 
spill  a  bowl  of  soup. 

We  waited  for  the  rain  to  clear  away,  but  as  it 
did  not  we  borrowed  huge  paper  umbrellas  and 
wandered  off  down  the  valley.  We  were  in  the 
midst  of  a  silk  spinning  district  and  in  almost 
every  doorway  sat  some  woman  of  the  household 
busily  capturing  the  silken  threads  from  the  co- 
coons. We  asked  permission  to  rest  in  the  door 
of  a  carpenter's  shop  which  overhung  the  rocky 
Kiso  and  was  shaded  by  the  tops  of  great  pines 
which  grew  from  the  sides  of  the  valley  bed. 
The  carpenter  brought  us  tea  and  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  point  the  view  through  the  trees  which 
had  been  the  companion  of  his  life. 

Sometimes  poverty  seems  to  be  an  absolute 
and  unarguable  condition;  at  other  times  one's 
ideas  as  to  the  what  and  when  of  poverty  are  so 
shifting  as  merely  to  be  interrogations.  There 


124  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

was  the  poverty  in  that  valley  of  the  struggle  for 
some  slight  margin  above  dire  want;  the  silk 
workers  were  speeding  their  machines  for  their 
pittance;  the  carpenter  was  busy  through  every 
hour  of  daylight.  Economics  and  efficiency  are 
everyday  words  but  what  is  their  ultimate  meaning 
not  in  dollars  but  in  life?  What  are  the  real 
wishes  of  the  leaders  in  Tokyo,  the  statesmen 
who  are  planning  policies  and  at  the  same  time 
must  strive  to  please  the  great  banking  houses 
of  the  world? — do  they  look  forward  to  the  time 
when  factories  will  fill  the  land  and  the  spinners 
will  not  be  sitting  in  their  own  doorways  but 
the  children  of  to-day's  workers  will  be  standing 
in  long  rows  before  machines?  "  We  are  taught," 
explained  a  Japanese,  "  to  pay  our  heavy  taxes 
cheerfully  so  that  the  empire  may  expand  and 
develop.  Wealth  will  be  thus  created  and  then 
taxes  can  be  reduced." 

Hori  had  remembrance  of  a  traveller's  tale 
which  he  had  heard  long  before  of  an  ancient 
tea-house  along  the  Kiso  famous  both  for  its 
noodle  soup  and  its  view  of  the  spot  locally  be- 
lieved to  have  been  the  awakening  place  of  Ura- 
shima  when  he  returned  from  the  Island  of  the 
Dragon  King.  Considering  that  the  story  ex- 
plicitly states  that  Urashima  awoke  on  the  sea- 


THE  ANCIENT  NAKESCENDO    125 

shore,  the  faith  of  the  inland  believers  is  really 
more  marvellously  imaginative  than  the  story  it- 
self. The  trudging  coolies  whom  we  stopped 
had  never  heard  of  the  tea-house.  Therefore  we 
knocked  at  the  first  gate  we  came  to  in  the  bam- 
boo wall  along  the  road  to  find  that  our  foot- 
steps had  magically  led  us  to  the  famed  spot  it- 
self. We  left  our  muddy  boots  at  the  door  and 
a  maid  showed  us  the  way  to  the  balcony  of  the 
room  of  honour  from  which  we  could  see  the 
tumbling  river.  The  view  is  called  "  The  Awak- 
ening." An  islet  emerges  from  the  foam  of  the 
waters  and  its  rocks  have  been  made  to  serve  as 
a  miniature  temple  garden.  There  is  another 
view  farther  down  the  bank,  from  which  the 
dwarfed  pines  and  stone  lanterns  of  the  island 
may  be  seen  to  better  advantage.  Cicerones  lie 
in  wait  there  for  the  sightseer.  In  delightful 
contrast  to  the  urgings  generally  experienced  from 
the  tribe,  these  guides  were  quite  shy  in  the  pres- 
ence of  foreigners. 

The  daughter  of  the  house,  in  a  kimono  of  silk 
and  brocade,  herself  brought  the  tray  of  tea  and 
sake  and  a  pyramid  dish  of  noodles.  The  porce- 
lain was  old  and  of  tempting  beauty.  The  tea 
was  fragrant.  Hori  insisted  that  we  should  ex- 
temporize poetry  to  express  our  appreciation  of  the 


126  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

beauty  of  the  Kiso,  but  O-Owre-san  and  I  were 
rather  self-conscious  in  our  rhymes.  We  had  been 
nurtured  in  a  land  of  specialization  where  poetry 
is  entrusted  to  professionals.  The  sun  came  out. 
We  paid  our  reckoning,  folded  up  our  paper  um- 
brellas, and  walked  back  to  our  inn  for  a  long 
night's  sleep. 


VI 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN 

IN  the  morning  Hori  discovered  that  his  mili- 
tary survey  map  somehow  had  been  mistaken  for 
a  sheet  of  wrapping  paper  the  day  before.  The 
torn-off  section  had  served  to  carry  rice  cakes  in 
my  pocket.  The  tearing  had  strangely  traversed 
mountains,  valleys,  and  rivers  along  almost  the 
line  we  purposed  following.  As  Hori  was  still 
unemancipated  from  the  idea  that  not  to  know 
where  one  is  is  to  be  lost,  he  was  rather  in  a  maze 
for  the  next  few  days,  as  we  continually  wandered 
off  the  edge  of  the  map  into  unknown  regions. 
He  must  have  marvelled  at  times  over  the  kind- 
ness of  the  Providence  which  had  guided  our 
steps  from  Kyoto  to  Nagoya. 

The  valley  of  the  Kiso  earnestly  seeks  to  at- 
test the  theory  that  the  inhabitants  of  localities 
with  a  similar  climate  and  topography  tend  to 
have  similar  ideas,  especially  in  working  out 
ways  of  doing  the  same  thing.  The  wide  sweep- 
ing view  with  the  snow-topped  mountains  on  the 
horizon  might  have  been  Switzerland,  and  for  a 

127 


128  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

more  decisive  deceiring  of  the  eye  into  thinking 
so  the  cottages  of  the  peasants  had  the  overhang- 
ing roof  of  the  Swiss  chalet  with  the  same  pitch 
and  the  same  arrangement  of  rows  of  boulders  on 
them.  It  is  a  province,  also,  of  trousered  women. 

We  came  upon  a  wistful-eyed,  pink-cheeked, 
timid  fairy  of  the  mountains.  She  was  carrying 
on  her  back  a  huge,  barrel-shaped  basket  and  she 
bent  forward  as  she  slowly  walked  along,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  a  handful  of  wild  flowers  in  her  fingers. 
Even  our  modest  knowledge  of  the  folklore  of 
the  land  told  us  that  she  must  be  a  princess  who 
had  been  captured  by  ugly  trolls.  They  had  set 
her  to  impossible  labour  as  their  revenge  against 
her  beauty.  A  young  man  whose  niche  in  the 
world  was  beyond  our  determining — although  we 
thought  he  might  be  a  student  on  a  vacation  walk- 
ing trip — had  caught  up  with  us  a  half -hour  be- 
fore and  had  been  measuring  his  step  with  ours. 
When  he  discovered  that  I  wished  to  take  a  pic- 
ture of  the  princess  he  assisted  with  such  effective 
blandishment  of  speech  that  she  halted  for  an  in- 
stant. When  I  asked  that  I  might  also  photo- 
graph him,  he  laughed  and  vaulted  up  among  the 
rocks  and  disappeared. 

A  little  farther  along  we  met  the  six  sisters 
of  the  princess.  They  were  carrying  burdens 


WE  CAME  UPON  A  WISTFUL-EYED.  TIMID  FAIRY  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    129 

equally  as  large  and  heavy  as  had  she,  but  they 
were  not  so  pretty  nor  so  wistful,  albeit  they  were 
just  as  timid.  We  never  could  find  any  key  to 
the  mystery  why  our  appearance  along  the  high- 
way would  sometimes  be  as  startling  as  if  we 
were  ghostly  apparitions,  and  at  other  times  it 
would  merely  bring  about  a  casual  interest  and 
staring,  if  it  brought  any  interest  at  all.  Upon 
this  occasion  it  was  a  panic.  The  six  maidens  be- 
held us,  they  shrieked  in  unison,  and  they  jumped 
from  the  road,  trying  to  hide  behind  rocks  and 
trees.  Their  lithe  limbs  might  have  carried  them 
like  fawns,  if  their  shoulders  had  been  freed 
from  the  huge  baskets,  but,  as  it  was,  their  flight 
was  more  like  that  of  some  new  and  enormous  va- 
riety of  the  beetle  tribe,  evoluted  so  far  as  to  wear 
cotton  clothes  and  to  have  pretty  human  heads 
turbaned  under  blue  and  white  handkerchiefs. 
As  a  son  of  Daguerre,  I  should  have  tarried  for 
an  instant  to  photograph  their  amazing  struggle, 
but  an  upsetting  obsession  of  chivalry  hurried  us 
on.  By  the  time  we  turned  to  look  back  they 
had  scrambled  to  the  road,  all  six  princesses  ac- 
counted for.  They,  too,  turned  to  look  at  us 
and  from  the  safety  of  distance  began  to  laugh. 
The  comedy  might  thus  have  ended  if  it  had  not 
been  that  at  that  instant  Hori  rounded  the  bend 


130  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

of  the  road  with  his  thumb  pressed  vigorously 
against  the  strident  bicycle  bell.  The  beetles  (or, 
better  to  say,  the  wingless  butterflies)  again  took 
flight.  We  awaited  their  second  reappearance. 
This  time  they  did  not  venture  laughter  until  they 
reached  the  curve  and  made  sure  of  no  further 
dismay. 

Hori  dismounted  and  pushed  the  bicycle  along 
and  we  entered  into  one  of  our  unending  discus- 
sions. A  subject  sometimes  in  debate  was  O- 
Owre-san's  and  my  intense  interest — our  curiosity 
— in  the  conversations  that  Hori  had  with  pass- 
ersby  along  the  road  or  in  the  shops.  Sometimes, 
when  we  had  made  some  simple  inquiry  in  a, 
shop,  Hori  would  ask  a  long  question;  the  shop- 
keeper would  answer ;  Hori  would  enter  a  counter 
dissertation;  the  shopkeeper  would  make  his  re- 
ply to  that;  Hori  would  reply;  the  shopkeeper 
would  reply ;  Hori  would  reply ;  and  then  it  might 
be  that  the  shopkeeper  would  have  the  conclusion. 
Hori  might  then  turn  to  us  with :  "  He  says 


'no.' 


In  the  port  city  shops  where  English  is  spoken, 
if  there  is  but  one  clerk  he  will  answer  your 
questions  immediately.  If  there  are  two,  every 
question  is  thoroughly  discussed  in  Japanese  be- 
fore answering,  and  if  there  be  three,  four,  or 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    131 

five  clerks,  the  debate  goes  on  to  extraordinary 
length.  Again  and  again  we  asked  Hori  for  a 
complete  translation  but  it  must  have  been  that  he 
believed  within  himself  that  he  had  asked  the 
question  in  the  simplest  terms,  for  we  seldom  got 
a  verbatim  translation. 

We  were  in  the  midst  of  some  such  discussion 
when  we  looked  up  to  see  an  old  man  standing 
before  us,  leaning  on  a  long  staff.  His  white 
beard  fell  benignly  and  his  steady  eyes  carried 
a  message  of  goodwill.  He  returned  our  greet- 
ings by  a  dignified  inclination  of  his  head.  We 
were  at  the  peak  of  the  road  and,  as  often  may 
be  found  at  such  points,  there  was  a  small  rest  tea- 
house for  travellers.  We  asked  the  old  man  if  he 
would  sit  down  with  us  and  share  a  pot  of  tea. 

The  iron  pot,  filled  with  mountain  spring  water, 
steamed  hospitably  on  the  hibachi  and  the  fra- 
grance of  the  tea  was  a  friendly  invitation  to  relax. 
Our  guest  stood  his  long  staff  in  the  corner,  sat 
down  on  a  cushion,  and  drew  his  feet  from  his 
dusty  sandals.  After  the  true  manner  of  happily 
met  travellers  he  was  easily  persuaded  to  tell  us 
the  tale  of  his  wanderings.  The  translation  is 
somewhat  rhetorical  but,  as  Hori  explained,  the 
tale  was  told  in  the  language  of  etiquette. 

"  I  was  born,"  said  he,  "  in  the  forty-first  year 


132  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

of  the  rule  of  the  Shogun  lenari.  I  was  young 
and  am  now  old.  My  eighty  and  seven  summers 
have  seen  the  downfall  of  the  once  mighty  before 
the  rising  to  full  glory  of  the  Meiji,  and  now, 
from  the  Palace  of  Yedo,  shine  upon  us  the  di- 
vine rays  of  the  Way  of  Heaven.  Great  is  the 
Mercy  of  Enlightenment.  The  Eternal  Glory  is 
the  Way. 

"  As  a  child  I  knew  these  mountains  which  you 
see.  The  provinces  of  our  land  were  then  forti- 
fied by  many  castles  and  these  roads  were 
traversed  by  armed  men.  The  castles  have  been 
razed  to  the  ground  but  the  temples  of  the  gods 
still  stand.  The  two-sworded  warriors  have  gone 
but  I,  a  humble  pilgrim,  walk  the  roads  they  once 
knew.  The  white  clouds  rest  in  the  blue  sky  above 
Fuji-san  as  when  I  looked  upon  them  as  a  child. 
The  clouds  will  rest  above  Fuji  when  these  eyes 
shall  see  them  not. 

"  In  the  fourteenth  year  of  my  youth  I  took 
the  vow  that  my  life  should  be  lived  in  honouring 
the  holy  images  of  Buddha,  each  and  all  as  my 
steps  might  find  them,  from  the  shrines  erected 
by  the  peasants  to  the  bronze  statues  of  the  great 
temples.  I  took  the  very  staff  which  you  see  and 
the  clothes  that  were  upon  my  back  and  bade  my 
family  good-bye.  Through  the  kindness  in  the 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    133 

hearts  of  men,  the  lowly  and  the  mighty,  the  gods 
have  provided  me  with  food  and  rest.  I  have 
travelled  without  illness  and  my  spirit  has  known 
the  joy  of  the  Way." 

In  those  years  that  his  bowl  had  not  gone  empty 
of  rice,  never,  it  may  be  believed,  did  anyone  give 
to  him  as  a  beggar  asking.  Japan  is  of  the  East, 
possessing  the  intuition  that  the  spiritual  is  a 
mystic  interflow. 

His  eyes  were  young;  they  were  not  clouded 
in  contemplation  of  the  abstract.  They  sparkled 
from  a  delight  in  life.  It  had  not  been  demanded 
of  him  that  his  vicarious  pilgrimage  should  be 
one  of  tragic  sacrifice.  He  had  given  and  he 
had  received.  While  his  theoretical  faith  might 
be  that  life  is  an  illusion  and  only  the  Way  is 
eternal,  nevertheless  he  was  born  to  love  his 
fellowmen  and  he  could  not  escape  from  the  prac- 
tical faith  that  was  in  him  that  this  temporal  life 
must  be  of  some  use  and  of  some  meaning.  I  re- 
membered in  strange  comparison  a  sturdy  British 
unemployed  whom  I  had  once  come  upon.  He 
was  lying  under  a  hedge  in  Monmouthshire.  He 
borrowed  a  pipeful  of  tobacco  and  then  turned 
over  onto  his  back  to  gaze  into  the  blue  sky. 
After  a  time  he  said :  "  Activity  is  a  fever.  There- 
fore it  is  a  disease.  Laziness  is  a  promise.  Rest 


134  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

and  forgetfulness  are  divine."  He  did  not  make 
the  effort  to  add  a  good-bye  when  I  left  him. 

A  path  of  our  pilgrim  led  over  the  road  which 
we  had  just  travelled.  We  parted,  bowing  many 
times.  Hori  unfolded  his  ravaged  map  and  found 
a  village  named  Narii  a  few  miles  farther  along. 
The  railroad  down  in  the  valley  according  to  the 
map  went  somewhere  near  Narii.  Hori's  nerves 
had  been  rasped  by  the  temperamental  vagaries 
of  the  bicycle  on  the  steep  slopes  and  he  decided 
to  await  a  train,  promising  to  meet  us. 

After  a  time  our  path  dropped  down  to  the 
bed  of  the  river.  Across  a  bridge  the  road  forked, 
one  branch  continuing  along  the  valley  and  the 
other  winding  off  into  the  hills.  The  hill  trail, 
particularly  as  it  led  into  the  unknown  regions 
off  Hori's  map,  tempted,  and  we  shouted  down 
an  inquiry  to  some  children  playing  in  the  water. 
They  were  successfully  attempting  to  get  as  wet 
as  possible  while  remaining  as  dirty  as  possible. 
There  is  a  mystery  which  overhangs  grimy  Japa- 
nese children.  When  the  little  noses  present  a  con- 
stant temptation  to  the  seiyo-jin  handkerchief  that 
in  itself  is  a  caste  sign  that  you  will  find  the  faces 
of  their  fathers  and  mothers  unhappy,  dull,  and 
lustreless.  When  the  children  are  brightly  scoured 
and  polished  there  is  a  general  appearance  of 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    135 

happiness  and  contentment  in  the  community.  It 
is  not  the  simple  equation  that  poverty  equals 
dirt;  one  village  is  scrubbed  and  the  next  one  is 
not — otherwise  neither  seems  richer  nor  poorer 
except  in  happy  looks. 

When  we  called  to  the  children  in  the  Kiso  they 
splashed  out  of  the  water  like  wild  animals  and 
scattered  in  all  directions,  but  as  two  naked  in- 
fants too  small  to  run  had  been  left  on  the  shore, 
first  the  girls  and  then  the  boys  began  to  edge 
back.  They  remained  to  stare.  We  pointed  up 
the  mountain  path  and  asked  if  it  led  to  Narii. 
Their  gestures  evinced  a  fierce  encouragement  to 
essay  the  ridges  as  if  they  had  the  contempt  of 
the  untamed  for  anything  as  conventional  as  a 
broad  valley  road.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they  were 
undoubtedly  saying  that  the  valley  road  did  not 
lead  to  Narii.  We  discovered  this  later  when  we 
could  look  down  from  the  heights.  Hori's  rail- 
road tunnelled  the  hills. 

According  to  local  belief  our  path  carried  us 
over  the  "  backbone "  of  the  empire,  and  this 
crossing  spot  is  considered  sacred  ground.  Ac- 
cordingly we  should  have  paid  special  homage  to 
the  local  deity  whose  shrine  we  passed,  but  as  we 
were  foreigners  and  in  ignorance,  the  god  perhaps 
forgave  us.  Furthermore,  we  unknowingly  passed 


136  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

a  particularly  renowned  view  of  very  holy  Mount 
Ontake.  We  probably  did  see  the  mountain,  but 
being  uninformed,  as  I  said,  of  this  special  view, 
we  did  not  hold  ourselves  in  proper  restraint 
until  reaching  the  exact  spot  for  appreciation. 
Instead  we  luxuriously  and  squanderously  revelled 
in  all  four  directions  of  the  compass.  It  is  al- 
ways thus  with  the  ignorant.  Their  indiscrimi- 
nate enthusiasm  is  more  irritating  to  the  intel- 
lectuals than  no  appreciation  at  all.  I  was  later 
most  depressingly  snubbed  for  having  missed  the 
sacred  view  by  a  scholar  of  things  Japanese.  He 
knew  it  from  prints  and  sacred  writings.  He  said 
that  he  himself  would  have  journeyed  to  see  the 
reality  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  probable  annoy- 
ance of  having  to  come  in  contact  with  so  many 
natives  on  the  journey.  He  appeared  to  be 
impatient  that  the  British  Museum  does  not  com- 
mandeer all  views,  temples,  and  abiding  places  of 
art  around  the  world  and  establish  turnstiles 
which  will  keep  the  natives  out  and  let  the  scholars 
in.  When  he  actually  grasped  that  our  only  rea- 
son for  having  arrived  at  that  particular  spot 
at  all  was  that  we  had  taken  a  turning  to  the 
right  instead  of  to  the  left,  he  declared  that  our 
ideas  of  travelling  evidence  the  same  intelligence 
as  might  the  tripping  of  tumbling  beans  and  that 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    137 

our  very  presence  at  sacred  places  was  a  sacri- 
lege. 

We  turned  a  corner  that  hung  sharply  over  the 
precipice.  Around  the  bend  the  shelf  spread 
out  into  a  miniature  meadow.  A  peasant  was 
lying  on  the  grass  and  his  straw-bonneted  ox  was 
leisurely  nibbling.  We  sat  down  beside  him 
and  O-Owre-san  began  searching  in  his  rucksack 
for  a  remaining  cake  of  chocolate.  During  this 
hunt  the  peasant  kept  his  eyes  carefully  and 
earnestly  averted.  I  made  the  remark  to  him 
that  the  view  was  kirei  and  he  replied  by  a  nervous 
hei.  O-Owre-san  found  the  chocolate  and  broke 
it  into  three  parts.  He  handed  one  of  the 
squares  to  the  peasant.  The  fingers  that  reached 
out  for  it  were  trembling. 

The  man  had  imaginative  eyes.  It  was  plain 
to  see  that  he  was  suffering  from  some  lively 
remembrance  of  a  mountain  folklore  demon  story. 
He  knew  that  we  were  foxes  or  badgers  who 
had  assumed  human  form,  and  that  we  had  come 
to  him  with  no  good  intentions.  He  suspected  a 
subtle  poison.  But  he  had  courage  from  one 
thought.  It  is  the  common  knowledge  of  the 
countryside  that  while  the  demands  of  demon 
badgers  may  not  be  directly  refused,  their  evil 
intent  may  often  be  thwarted  by  the  crafty  in- 


138  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

telligence  of  man.  The  immediate  problem  was 
how  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  refusing  to  eat 
the  mysterious  cake  which  was  now  getting  soft 
and  moist  in  his  hand.  Suddenly  he  popped  the 
chocolate  into  his  mouth,  tin  foil  and  all.  Then 
he  pushed  back  the  square  into  his  hand  almost 
in  the  same  movement.  I  pretended  not  to  be 
watching.  He  dropped  his  hand  with  elaborate 
carelessness  into  the  thickness  of  the  grass.  I  felt 
a  sense  of  dramatic  relievement  myself. 

During  those  minutes  the  ox  had  been  no  such 
respecter  of  enchantment  as  had  his  master.  In- 
stead, he  had  stood  sniffing  at  our  boots  and 
pulling  up  bits  of  grass  round  and  about  our 
ankles,  all  the  time  rolling  a  pair  of  red,  angry 
eyes.  Asiatic  beasts  of  burden  find  something 
antagonistic  to  their  complaisance  in  the  odour 
of  the  Caucasian  and  this  individual  ox  was  pro- 
gressing toward  a  positive  bovine  dissatisfaction. 
Furthermore,  we  were  sitting  on  the  sweetest 
and  most  tender  tufts  of  grass  remaining.  We 
courteously  dismissed  the  peasant  to  go  his  way. 
His  marked  alacrity  was  quite  welcome. 

We  lingered  on  the  grass  for  a  little  while  and 
I  told  O-Owre-san  my  guesses.  I  elaborated 
them  into  the  hazard  that  the  poor  man — he 
had  not  once  turned  to  look  back  over  his  shoul- 


der — might  even  then  be  fearing  that  the  slight 
taste  from  the  chocolate  would  turn  him  into  a 
frog  and  his  ox  into  a  stork  to  eat  him  up;  or 
perhaps  he  might  be  in  distress  that  he  and  his 
beast  might  grow  smaller  and  smaller  until  they 
would  disappear  into  thin  air. 

O-Owre-san  had  been  examining  the  faintness 
of  the  path.  "  I  hope  none  of  these  things  happen 
until  the  man  gets  over  the  hills  to  Narii.  The 
hoof  prints  make  an  excellent  trail,"  he  said. 

It  was  time  to  sling  on  our  packs  and  follow. 
When  we  reached  the  next  turn  we  could  see 
the  peasant's  straw  hat  and  the  ox's  straw  bonnet 
bobbing  along  just  over  the  bush  tops.  We 
maintained  this  distance  without  closing  the  gap. 
As  O-Owre-san  had  predicted,  the  hoof  marks 
were  useful.  The  path  often  grew  so  faint  that 
it  had  no  other  resolute  indication.  We  had 
been  sure,  without  thought  of  other  possibility, 
that  the  crest  of  the  hill  we  were  climbing  would 
be  the  summit  of  the  range.  When  we  reached 
the  crest  we  stood  looking  up  at  another  peak 
rising  from  a  shallow  valley  at  our  feet. 

'  Which  way  does  the  ox  say  to  go? "  I  asked. 

The  hoof  marks  were  there  in  the  soft  earth, 
but  where  our  feet  had  stopped  there  they  had 
stopped.  They  stopped  as  absolutely  as  if  the 


140  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

peasant  and  his  ox  had  been  whisked  away  in  a 
chariot  to  the  sunset  sky.  The  bushes  were  too 
low  for  concealment.  There  was  no  cave,  nor 
hole  in  the  earth. 

If  there  be  no  such  thing  as  magic,  in  the 
Japanese  mountains  at  least,  where  did  that  man 
and  his  beast  go?  The  disappearance  was  as  com- 
plete as  the  most  exacting  enchanter  could  have 
desired.  We  found  no  answer  to  the  riddle  and 
the  sun  was  sinking,  adding  the  next  question  of 
how  we  were  going  to  get  out  of  the  hills  in 
the  night  time  if  we  delayed  for  scientific  investi- 
gation. We  succumbed  to  expediency  and  took 
a  five-mile-an-hour  pace  over  such  trail  as  we  had 
left,  guessing  at  the  turns.  When  we  finally 
reached  the  next  crest,  deep  in  the  valley  we 
could  see  Narii.  Before  descending  the  steep, 
dropping  path,  we  sat  down  near  a  spring  where 
the  birds  had  come  to  drink.  They  were  singing 
evening  songs  mightily.  Bright  wild  flowers  were 
scattered  in  the  open  spaces  between  the  intense 
green  of  the  fern  patches.  The  world  was  lustily 
at  peace. 

When  we  did  start  we  swung  down  the  long 
hill  almost  at  a  run  and  in  a  half -hour  reached 
the  edge  of  the  village  to  find  Hori  sitting  under 
a  stone  lantern  in  the  temple  yard.  The  evening 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    141 

peace  had  made  us  positive  that  this  is  the  best 
of  all  possible  worlds,  but  Hori  was  entertaining 
a  different  idea.  He  looked  exceedingly  gloomy. 
We  were  impatient  of  any  discontent.  If  he 
had  said  that  men  were  starving  for  rice  in  the 
village  beyond,  the  fitting  answer  would  have 
seemed  to  us  the  historic  words  of  the  good  queen: 
"  Give  them  cake."  Undoubtedly  when  the  mes- 
sage about  the  starving  peasants  was  brought  to 
that  Lady  of  France  she  was  sitting  under  the 
shrubbery  at  Versailles,  and  the  birds  were  sing- 
ing, and  it  was  springtime,  and  perhaps  the  foun- 
tains were  playing.  Impellingly  she  realized  with 
an  insight  deeper  than  any  historian  has  ever 
appreciated  that  upon  such  a  glorious  day,  if  there 
is  any  such  thing  as  right  or  justice  at  all  in 
this  world,  a  certain  amount  of  cake  should  be 
everybody's  inalienable  possession. 

As  it  happened,  Hori's  worry  had  nothing  to 
do  with  altruistic  sorrow  for  starving  villagers, 
but  existed  from  a  lively  interest  in  our  own  af- 
fairs. The  town  was  very  poor,  he  explained,  a 
town  come  down  in  the  world  from  ancient  pros- 
perity. Its  neck  was  hung  with  the  millstone 
of  decayed  graces  and  thinned  blood.  The  inn 
was  so  old  that  it  was  senile.  Hori  had  established 
some  excuse  before  entering  the  door  for  inspec- 


142  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

tion  which  later  allowed  his  rejection  of  the  inn's 
hospitality,  but  it  would  never  do  for  us  in 
turn  to  venture  in  for  a  glance  around.  That 
would  be  needlessly  raising  the  expectation  of  the 
ancient  host.  We  would  find,  he  suggested,  that 
it  would  be  only  five  or  six  or  seven  miles  to  the 
next  village.  As  we  had  had  twenty-five  or  more 
miles  behind  us  and  most  of  those  had  been  along 
mountain  paths,  we  were  not  so  inevitably  tempted 
at  that  hour  of  night  to  be  particular  in  a  choice 
of  roofs  as  Hori,  who  had  come  by  train,  was 
imagining. 

The  inn,  in  truth,  was  very  old.  By  any  law 
of  survival  chances  the  wandering  wings  should 
have  burned  to  earth  long  ago.  To  greet  us  there 
were  no  smiling  and  chattering  maids  gathered 
behind  a  mistress;  instead,  an  old  man  and  a 
very  small  girl,  his  granddaughter  or  more  likely 
his  great-granddaughter,  met  us  in  the  dark 
entrance  with  protests  that  the  house  was  un- 
worthy of  our  presence.  We  hastily  denied 
them  their  words.  Hori  could  employ  the  polite 
phrases  of  Japan.  We  impulsively,  directly,  and 
bluntly  told  them  "  no."  It  was  not  alone  the 
pathos  of  the  two  figures  which  appealed.  It 
was  somewhat  that  their  dignity  had  not  surren- 
dered to  ruin,  and  it  was  somewhat  a  some- 


"IN  THE  FOURTEENTH  YEAR  OF  MY  YOUTH  I  TOOK  THE  VOW  THAT  MY  LIFE  SHOULD  BE 
LIVED  IN  HONORING  THE  HOLY  IMAGES  OF  BUDDHA" 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN     143 

thing  else,  indescribable,  in  the  atmosphere  that 
charmed. 

We  followed  the  master  along  a  labyrinthine 
corridor.  The  soft  wood  planks  of  the  floor 
had  been  polished  to  a  deep  reddish  gleam  under 
the  bare  feet  of  generations  of  hurrying  ne-sans. 
He  led  us  past  inner  courtyards  to  the  farthest 
wing.  Our  room  hung  over  the  river  at  an  elbow 
of  the  stream.  Even  with  the  shogi  pushed  wide 
open  we  were  hidden  completely  from  the  eyes 
of  the  town  by  heavily  leafed  trees. 

The  mats  on  the  floor  had  turned  a  dingy, 
mottled  brown  and  black  from  their  once  light 
golden  yellow,  but  they  were  clean.  The  sacred 
takemona  corner  still  compelled  its  importance. 
It  had  been  built  in  an  age  when  the  demand  for 
its  existence  was  the  ardent  faith  of  the  builders 
rather  than  an  architectural  tradition.  The  room 
was  about  thirty-five  feet  long  and  fifteen  feet 
deep,  perhaps  a  little  larger.  The  ceiling  was 
proportionately  high. 

Hori  was  still  doubtful,  not  gloomily  so,  but 
from  the  knowledge  that  an  inn  is  proved  by  its 
service.  The  host  was  kneeling,  as  immobile  as 
a  temple  image,  awaiting  our  orders.  His  skin 
was  as  bloodless  as  the  vellum  of  the  painting 
which  hung  behind  him.  His  watchful  eyes,  how- 


144  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

ever,  were  intensely  bright  in  their  deep  sockets. 
Hori  began  inquiries  about  dinner.  The  ancient 
bowed  his  head  to  the  floor,  drawing  in  his  breath 
sharply  against  his  teeth.  Dinner  was  now  being 
prepared  for  his  family,  he  said,  but  it  would  be 
unworthy  of  his  guests.  The  formal  phrase  of 
polite  deprecation  carried  this  truth,  as  Hori 
discovered  by  further  questioning;  it  was  not 
that  the  dinner  was  or  was  not  worthy — it  was 
the  failure  of  quantity.  We  should  not  have  long 
to  wait,  said  our  host,  but  food  would  have  to 
be  sent  for. 

As  we  sat  in  a  circle  planning  what  we  should 
have,  the  old  man  smiled  and  pointed  to  a  patched 
square  in  the  matting.  Underneath  the  square, 
he  said,  was  a  depression  for  holding  bronze 
braziers.  When  the  nobility,  in  the  old  feudal 
times,  had  travelled  the  Nakescendo  trail,  this 
was  the  room  of  honour  that  had  been  given  to 
the  daimyos.  It  had  been  often  the  custom  for 
the  retainers  of  a  daimyo  themselves  to  prepare 
his  dinner  over  the  braziers.  Our  sitting  there, 
planning  what  we  should  have,  had  reminded  him 
of  the  dead  past.  His  words  came  slowly  as  if 
between  each  word  of  recollection  his  spirit  jour- 
neyed back  into  the  very  maw  of  oblivion  and 
then  had  to  return  again  to  the  world. 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    145 

"Are  the  braziers  still  hidden  there?"  Hori 
interrupted. 

Yes,  the  braziers  were  under  the  floor  or  some- 
where to  be  found. 

Hori  turned  to  us  and  put  us  through  a  ques- 
tioning until  he  rediscovered  the  word  "  picnic  " 
for  his  vocabulary.  '  That's  what  we  will  have, 
a  picnic,  right  here,"  he  declared,  and  he  turned 
back  to  the  host  to  explain.  The  old  man  almost 
gasped,  at  least  approaching  as  near  to  such 
escape  of  emotion  as  he  probably  ever  had  at 
the  request  of  a  guest. 

"  But  you  will  then  have  to  have  a  special 
waitress,"  he  said.  "My  granddaughter  is  indeed 
too  young  for  that  privilege."  Always  when  he 
used  depreciatory  adjectives  about  the  child's  un- 
worthiness  he  failed  lamentably  to  harden  his 
caressing  tone.  She  was,  however,  as  he  had 
said,  little  older  than  a  baby.  The  services  of 
a  maid  we  should  have  to  pay  for,  but,  under 
the  spell  of  the  conjuring  up  of  the  memories  of 
those  bygone  revels  in  our  room,  what  cared  we 
for  saving  our  precious  yen?  We  had  become 
reincarnations  of  the  two-sworded  swaggerers. 
We  waved  our  arms  grandiloquently. 

'  Tell  him  to  send  for  fowls  for  the  pot,"  we 
oratorically  assailed  Hori.  "  Let  us  mix  rich 


146  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

sauces  and  warm  the  sake.  And  tell  him  to  re- 
member that  for  us  there  can  be  but  one  choice 
— the  maid  to  serve  our  dinner  must  be  the  pret- 
tiest maid  in  all  Narii." 

I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  Hori  would 
translate  our  exact  words,  but  I  found  later  that 
such  was  his  act. 

Thus  the  mountain  village  of  Narii  faced  a 
problem.  Two  foreigners,  and  a  Japanese  almost 
as  alien  as  a  foreigner,  had  appeared  from  no- 
body knew  where,  not  preceded,  'twas  true,  by 
retainers  as  had  been  the  travellers  of  old,  but 
nevertheless  demanded  the  old-time  service  with 
as  much  gusto  as  if  they  were  accustomed  to 
having  what  they  wished.  They  had  asked  that 
the  prettiest  maid  in  all  Narii  be  called  to  the 
inn  to  exercise  the  privilege  of  guarding  the  steam- 
ing rice  box.  It  was  obvious  that  there  could 
be  only  one  prettiest  maid,  and  all  Narii  knew 
with  one  mind  that  the  prettiest  maid  was  the 
daughter  of  the  Shinto  priest.  However,  the 
daughter  of  a  priest  is  not  a  likely  candidate  for 
service  in  an  inn,  even  if  the  master  has  ever 
been  a  faithful  devotee  of  the  temple.  Never- 
theless there  was  the  honour  of  the  hospitality 
of  Narii  at  stake.  Messengers  (or  even  appropri- 
ately, it  might  be  said,  heralds)  were  sent  to  ex- 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    147 

plain  the  problem  to  the  maid  and  her  father, 
and  to  use,  if  necessary,  the  pressure  of  "  the 
state  demands." 

Thus  came  O-Hanna-san  to  the  inn.  (In  all 
Japan  there  cannot  be  a  prettier,  a  more  bashful, 
or  a  more  modest  maiden.)  Her  eyes  were  down- 
cast behind  long  black  lashes.  Her  soft  cheek 
flushed  and  paled — perhaps  somewhat  from  the 
excitement  of  the  adventure.  Neither  she  nor 
her  friends  had  ever  seen  one  of  that  strange  race, 
the  foreigner.  And,  indeed,  even  a  priest's  daugh- 
ter may  think  that  to  be  chosen  as  the  prettiest 

maid !!  Ah,  her  courage  failed  her  to  glance 

up  and  words  would  not  come  to  her  lips  to  an- 
swer their  questions,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  be 
so  very  predatory  nor  so  very  fearsome — and  they 
were  very  hungry. 

Two  great  bronze  braziers  had  been  filled  with 
glowing  charcoal.  The  foreigners  and  the  outer- 
world  Japanese  who  could  speak  their  strange 
words  were  busily  cooking  the  fowls,  chopped  into 
dice,  and  they  were  arguing  about  their  respective 
talents  and  abilities,  as  do  all  amateur  cooks. 
Perhaps  she  could  now  look  up  for  an  in- 
stant unobserved.  No,  a  glance  met  her  eyes 
and  she  felt  hot  blushes  grow  again  on  her 
cheek. 


148  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

While  they  feasted  and  laughed  she  had  to 
run  many  times  to  the  kitchen  for  forgotten  dishes. 
When  she  passed  along  the  hall  by  the  entrance 
to  the  street  she  was  each  time  stopped  and 
besieged  by  the  questions  of  the  gathered  mob. 
(Some  of  those  inquiring  investigators  had  also 
gathered  outside  the  wall  of  my  bath  an  hour 
before.  I  had  been  suddenly  aware  of  an  eye 
at  every  crack  and  crevice  of  the  boards  as  I  was 
cautiously  stepping  into  the  superheated  tub. 
There  was  not  a  sound,  merely  the  glitter  of  their 
star-scattered  eyes.) 

The  foreigners  put  sugar  on  their  rice  and  one 
of  them  even  put  sugar  in  his  tea.  They  handled 
their  chopsticks  so  awkwardly  that  it  was  marvel- 
lous that  they  did  not  spill  the  rice  grains  on  the 
matting.  She  thought  of  the  twenty  rules  in  eti- 
quette for  the  proper  and  graceful  use  of  chop- 
sticks and  she  imagined  that  if  there  had  been  a 
ten  score  of  rules  they  might  have  all  been 
broken.  At  last  the  three  feasters  finished  their 
mighty  meal  and  stretched  out  on  the  cushions 
to  smoke  in  deep  contentment.  She  doubted 
whether  they  had  even  noticed  that  her  superior 
kimono  was  not  such  as  a  maid  of  an  inn  would 
possess.  After  the  feast  her  quick  feet,  in  spotless 
white  tdbi,  carried  away  the  bowls  and  little 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    149 

tables.  Then  she  sat  down  by  the  door  to  await 
any  further  clapping  of  hands. 

The  host  came  in,  moving  silently  across  the 
matting.  He  kneeled  and  bent  his  forehead  to 
the  floor.  Before  the  meal  he  had  himself  ar- 
ranged the  flowers,  in  an  old  iron  vase,  to  stand 
in  the  takemona  corner.  We  tried  to  express  our 
appreciation  for  the  flowers  and  our  admiration 
of  the  vase. 

We  asked  him  how  old  the  inn  was.  It  had 
been  his  father's  before  him,  and  his  grandfather's 
before  his  father.  Yes,  in  those  days  the  Nake- 
scendo  had  rivalled  the  Tokaido,  and  yearly,  on 
the  hastening  to  Yedo  to  give  obeisance  to  the 
Shogun,  the  great  nobles  of  the  northwest  prov* 
inces  with  their  armed  retainers  had  had  to  pass 
through  Narii.  In  the  pride  of  their  gifts  to 
the  Shogun,  in  their  numbers,  in  their  courage, 
they  had  never  yielded  place  to  the  envoys  from 
the  great  families  of  the  South.  This  now  for- 
gotten inn  had  then  been  famous.  Our  room, 
overhanging  the  river,  he  repeated,  had  been  only 
given  to  the  daimyos.  The  samurai  had  crowded 
the  other  rooms.  The  inn  had  boasted  a  score, 
two  score,  of  trained  and  pretty  ne-sans  to  wait 
upon  those  fiery  warriors.  (The  modern  geisha, 
in  many  of  her  accomplishments,  is  daughter  to 


150  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

the  inn  maidens  of  the  feudal  days  who  sang  and 
danced  and  played  musical  instruments  in  addi- 
tion to  the  graces  of  more  domestic  duties.)  The 
inn  had  then  rung  with  shouting  and  laughter, 
and  sometimes  the  dawn  of  the  morning  start  of 
the  cavalcade  found  the  retainers  still  sitting 
around  the  feast. 

On  the  road  to  Yedo  their  purses  had  hung  full, 
but  the  great  city  always  plunged  both  its  hands 
into  those  purses  filled  from  the  rice  taxes,  and 
it  was  often  quite  another  story — the  return  jour- 
ney back  to  the  provincial  castles.  No  rare  oc- 
currence was  it  indeed,  for  some  haughty  samurcd 
to  declare  in  the  morning  that  he  could  not  pay 
his  inn  bill,  however  modest  it  might  be.  Upon 
one  occasion  a  certain  warrior  had  been  forced 
to  leave  in  pledge  the  first  mistress  of  his  heart 
— his  sword.  A  daimyo,  overlord  of  a  province, 
could,  of  course,  never  be  in  debt  to  an  innkeeper, 
although  he  might  leave  a  gift  for  his  host  instead 
of  money.  When  such  eventuality  as  that  arose 
the  host  would  declare  (wisely)  that  his  hospital- 
ity had  been  unworthy  of  any  remuneration  and 
that  he  was  a  thousand  times  repaid  by  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  gift. 

Yes,  went  on  the  old  man,  once  a  noble  upon 
leaving  the  door  had  caused  a  vase  to  be  un- 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    151 

wrapped  from  its  encasements  of  one  silken  bag 
after  another  and  had  given  it  to  the  inn.  The 
donor  had  written  a  poem  of  dedication  with  his 
own  hand.  The  vase  was  shaped  like  a  bottle  and 
the  inn  had  been  called  "  The  Bottle  Inn  "  from 
that  day,  seventy  years  in  the  past.  Our  host,  a 
youth  on  that  day,  had  thought  that  the  inn  would 
ever  be  rich  and  renowned.  He  sighed.  The 
tradition  of  its  renown  had  faded  and  been  for- 
gotten in  this  age  of  railways.  No  longer  did 
turbulent  guests  demand  that  the  bottle  be  brought 
out  and  shown. 

If  his  dramatic  genius  had  been  subtly  leading 
us  toward  turbulence,  we  obeyed  the  pulling  of 
the  strings.  We  demanded  to  know  whether  the 
vase  was  still  under  his  roof.  Our  host  smiled. 
The  sacred  vase  was  hidden  safely.  Would  we 
like  to  see  it? 

He  returned,  carrying  an  old  wooden  box.  The 
great-granddaughter  dragged  the  unredeemed 
sword  after  her.  The  well-worn  scabbard  of  the 
sword  was  of  mediocre,  conventional  design,  but 
the  blade  had  been  forged  by  one  of  the  famous 
sword  makers.  Hori  read  the  sword's  origin 
from  the  characters  carved  in  the  steel.  The  old 
man  slowly  slipped  the  sword  back  into  the  scab- 
bard, leaving  us  to  ponder  what  might  have  been 


152  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

the  tragic  fate  of  the  ronin  that  he  had  never  re- 
turned for  his  pledge. 

No  casket  of  precious  metal  can  be  so  allur- 
ingly suggestive  of  trove  as  the  simple,  unpainted, 
pine  boxes  into  which  the  Japanese  put  their 
treasures.  A  woven  cord  clasped  down  the  lid 
of  the  box.  The  untying  of  it  began  the  breathless 
ceremony.  When  the  lid  was  lifted  we  saw  the 
first  silken  wrapping,  then  came  another,  and  an- 
other, and  another.  Some  were  of  brocade,  some 
were  of  faded  plain  colour, — red,  blue,  or  rose. 
Finally  the  drawing  string  of  the  last  bag  was 
pulled  open  and  the  old  man  lifted  the  bottle. 
It  was  of  yellow  pottery  with  a  thick  brown 
glaze  overrunning  the  sides.  The  mouth  of  the 
vase  was  capped  by  a  bronze  and  silver  band 
carved  with  an  irregular  motif. 

The  trustee  of  the  possession  allowed  us  to 
pass  it  from  hand  to  hand. 

What  was  one  of  our  reasons  for  being  in  Narii 
at  that  very  moment?  It  was  that  our  eyes  were 
prying  for  those  rarer  treasures  in  Japan  which 
may  be  sometimes  gleaned  "  away  from  the  beaten 
path."  Unaccountable  chance  had  led  us  to  the 
inn.  The  old  man  was  hopelessly  beaten  in  his 
contest  with  poverty.  I  knew  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  sell,  but  if  there  should  be  the  jingling 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN    158 

of  a  few  yen — was  it  likely  that  he  could  refuse? 
Our  eyes  were  gleaming  with  desire.  Surely, 
even  if  it  were  a  venal  sin  to  take  away  the 
bottle  from  The  Bottle  Inn  the  very  greatness 
of  the  temptation  would  have  brought  its  own 
special  forgiveness.  But  because  temptation  and 
conscience  can  generally  be  argued  around  to  our 
satisfaction,  the  gods  have  ironically  added  im- 
pulse as  the  third  part  of  us.  It  must  have  been 
some  such  impulse  which  was  the  irrational  lever 
which  moved  us  to  action.  We  soared  to  the 
heights.  It  was  a  superior  endurance  to  any 
flight  that  it  is  likely  either  of  us  will  ever  at- 
tempt again.  Truly  such  virtue  is  more  regretted 
than  gloried  in.  We  did  not  take  the  bottle  with 
us.  It  still  functions  in  its  environment,  in  har- 
mony with  its  tradition.  Taken  away  it  could 
be  only  a  superior  vase  with  a  history,  an  object 
of  art.  In  that  old  inn  it  is  a  living  part,  an 
inspiration.  In  the  forgotten  village  of  Narii  no 
numbered  museum  tag  hangs  around  its  neck. 

The  bottle  dropped  back  into  the  brocade  bag 
lined  with  faded  crimson  silk.  Then  the  other 
wrappings,  one  by  one,  muffled  it.  It  went  into 
the  box,  the  lid  was  fitted  into  place,  and  the  cord 
was  tied.  Do  we  gain  strength  from  resisting 
such  temptation?  The  writers  of  the  Holy 


154  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

Church  of  the  Middle  Ages  said  so.  By  refus- 
ing that  bottle  I  merely  gained  exhaustion.  This 
moment  I  am  stifled  by  the  dust  of  the  ashes  of 
that  murdered  passion.  My  conscience  replies 
with  no  response.  It  has  lost  the  vitality  of  re- 
coil, and  thus,  if  ever  such  time  may  come,  I  may 
yet  glory  in  a  greater  vandalism,  some  supreme 
Hunnish  act,  and  there  will  be  no  rasping  regret. 
The  breezes  up  among  the  snows  of  the  moun- 
tains came  down  into  the  valley  for  the  night. 
Wherever  they  were  going  they  seemed  to  be 
quite  undetermined  as  to  their  path.  They  blow 
from  every  side  and  into  every  corner  of  the 
room  by  turn.  Little  by  little,  to  escape  the 
draughts,  we  had  kept  pushing  along  the  wooden 
shutters  until  we  were  at  length  completely  walled 
in.  It  was  not  possible  to  imagine  that  a  few 
miles  away,  down  on  the  rice  plains,  the  millions 
were  nudely  stifling  while  we  were  going  to  bed 
to  get  warm.  The  daughter  of  the  priest  had  been 
dragging  layers  of  bedding  to  the  door  and,  when 
we  clapped  our  hands,  she  had  innumerable  mat- 
tresses for  each  of  us.  For  once  it  was  unneces- 
sary to  stretch  the  mosquito  netting.  There 
seemed  to  be  nothing  left  but  to  blow  out  the 
lights  and  cry :  "  O  yasumi  nasai! "  to  the  retreat- 
ing patter  of  her  footsteps. 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  BOTTLE  INN     155 

"  What's  the  midget  granddaughter  waiting 
for?"  I  asked  Hori. 

"  She  wants  you  to  go  to  bed,"  said  he  from 
under  his  quilt. 

I  jumped  into  the  soft  centre  of  my  mattresses 
as  requested.  Then  the  butterfly  dropped  on  her 
knees  and  crept  backward  around  our  beds.  Out 
of  a  box  she  was  pouring  a  train  of  powder  until 
she  had  us  each  enclosed  in  a  magic  circle. 

"Why?"  I  demanded. 

Kenjiro  laughed  at  me. 

"  It's  nomi-yoke"  he  said.  "  Insect  powder — 
what  do  you  say  in  America?  Bug  medicine? " 

I  insisted  that  I  had  not  seen  the  sign  of  a 
bug  or  an  insect  or  a  flea  or  anything  looking  like 
a  marauder. 

"  Of  course  not,"  Hori  stopped  me  as  if  I 
should  have  known  better.  "  It's  just  courtesy 
to  honoured  guests,  to  show  you  that  they  would 
wish  to  protect  you  if  there  were  any.  If  there 
were  crawlers,"  he  concluded  with  some  scorn, 
"  do  you  suppose  they'd  make  such  an  effort  to 
call  attention  to  the  fact? " 

That  bushido  explanation  satisfied  Hori  but  I 
was  doubtful.  For  the  sake  of  verification  I  care- 
fully destroyed  the  integrity  of  the  rampart 
around  my  bed  by  opening  up  passages  through 


156  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

the  powder.  I  was  willing  to  display  a  few  bites 
in  the  morning  to  prove  the  truth.  I  went  to 
sleep  dreaming  about  two-sworded  samurai  who 
looked  like  pinch  bugs,  and  they  were  swaggering 
around  a  wall  of  insect  powder.  However,  the 
morning  proved  that  Hori  was  quite  correct.  The 
delicate  attention  had  been  born  of  pure  courtesy. 


VII 

THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI 

IN  the  morning  we  found  great  brass  basins  of 
Water  waiting  for  us  in  the  sunny  iris  garden. 
One  of  the  super-errors  that  a  foreigner  can  make 
in  a  native  inn  is  to  ask  to  have  the  basins 
brought  to  his  room.  Such  a  request  can  be  un- 
derstood only  as  a  perversion,  or  a  barbarity. 
One  reason  why  the  houses  and  inns  seem  so 
clean  is  that  they  eliminate  so  many  of  the  chances 
for  their  being  otherwise;  and  this  defence  might 
be  added  into  the  weighing  when  criticizing  Japa- 
nese nudity  at  ablutions. 

Breakfast  was  brought  to  us  steaming  under 
the  lacquer  covers  of  the  bowls,  but  the  priest's 
daughter  was  not  holding  the  wooden  ladle  for 
the  rice.  It  was  a  rather  late  hour  when  she  had 
returned  to  her  father's  house,  but  the  mothers 
and  daughters  of  a  Japanese  home  are  accustomed 
to  having  their  working  hours  overlap  into  the 
night.  In  subtlety  we  brazenly  accused  each  other 
of  having  frightened  the  gentle  ne-san  into  not 
returning.  The  truth  was — as  it  afterwards  came 

157 


158  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

out — that  we  had  each  found  opportunity  to  hint 
to  the  host's  ear  the  night  before  that  the  maid's 
slumber  by  no  means  should  be  disturbed  for  our 
morning's  start.  Thus  we  each  privately  thought 
we  knew  the  secret  of  her  non-appearance,  but 
just  as  we  were  tying  on  our  shoes  at  the  door  a 
breathless  message  was  brought  by  her  small 
brother.  She  had  overslept.  It  had  not  been 
our  late  hour  which  was  responsible.  The  family 
of  the  Shinto  priest  had  sat  up  almost  until  the 
first  light  in  the  East  to  listen  to  the  wonder 
tale  of  their  daughter  who  had  endured  such  a 
singular  and  daring  adventure. 

The  ancient  host  gave  us  presents  and  we  gave 
him  presents.  We  said  our  farewells  at  the  door 
and  then,  after  that,  he  and  his  granddaughter 
walked  along  with  us  half  through  the  village. 
Finally  we  bowed  our  formal  seven  bows  of  fare- 
well. When  we  reached  the  end  of  the  street 
we  turned  and  saw  them  still  standing  where  we 
had  left  them. 

The  road  led  across  a  wide,  flat  valley.  That 
morning  there  was  a  truly  extraordinary  phe- 
nomenon. The  claret  red  of  the  sun  flamed  and 
danced  against  the  snows  of  the  mountain  wall 
at  our  left.  Finally  our  road  broke  up  into  a 
delta  of  small  paths.  The  soft  earth  had  been 


THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI    159 

so  cut  into  ruts  by  heavy  carts  that  Hori  was 
forced  to  accede  to  the  demands  of  the  bicycle 
that  it  should  be  assisted  and  not  ridden,  but  he 
did  not  surrender  until  the  wheel  had  demon- 
strated its  malevolence  by  pitching  him  a  half- 
dozen  times  off  the  saddle.  Thus  we  all  walked 
along  together.  The  villages  were  rather  mean, 
with  the  air  of  having  come  down  in  the  world. 
Some  of  the  towns,  in  the  days  before  machinery, 
had  had  special  fame  in  the  various  handicrafts; 
one  had  been  known  for  its  hand-made  wooden 
combs.  Evidently  there  remain  some  conserva- 
tives who  have  not  yet  countenanced  modern  vul- 
canite innovations,  as  wooden  combs  were  still 
being  made  for  sale.  Entire  families,  from  grand- 
parents to  children,  were  the  manufacturers,  the 
factories  their  own  homes.  We  bought  a  boxful 
for  a  few  sen.  In  arriving  at  a  selling  price 
they  must  have  valued  their  time  in  the  manu- 
facturing as  a  gratuitous  contribution  to  the 
arts. 

Every  once  in  a  while  O-Owre-san  and  I  had 
had  our  pleasure  in  drawing  the  long  bow  of  our 
imagination  concerning  the  architectural  reason 
for  a  certain  peculiar  type  of  house.  A  recurring 
example  is  to  be  found  in  nearly  every  village. 
These  buildings  are  unusually  substantial  and 


160  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

the  windows  are  always  heavily  barred  and  shut- 
tered. They  give  a  suggestion  of  descent  from 
the  castles  of  feudal  days.  As  I  said,  we  had  em- 
ployed our  elaborate  imagining  over  the  myste- 
rious buildings,  but  our  guesses  had  never 
brought  us  anywhere  near  to  the  truth.  Hori 
explained  that  they  are  the  houses  of  the  pawn- 
brokers. Hori  is  the  son  of  a  samurai.  (He  has 
the  right  to  wear,  if  he  wishes,  the  full  number 
of  crests  on  his  formal  kimono.)  The  artists  who 
made  the  old  colour  prints  used  to  give  to  the 
eyes  of  the  two-sworded  samurai  an  expression 
of  warlike  ferocity.  When  Hori  spoke  of  the 
pawnbrokers  his  eyes  glared,  and  I  was  sure  that 
I  detected  his  hand  starting  to  reach  for  the 
sword  that  has  now  gone  from  his  girdle.  How- 
ever, the  ubiquitous  bicycle  just  then  swung 
around  and  entangled  him,  as  a  reminder,  prob- 
ably, that  this  is  a  new  age,  a  mechanical  and  not 
a  feudal  one,  and  that  a  samurai  no  longer  has  the 
general  and  hearty  acquiescence  of  law  and  society 
to  proceed  to  direct  action  against  the  loathed 
money  lender.  The  law  of  the  land  says  to-day 
that  the  pawnbroker  must  be  considered  as  a  free 
and  equal  citizen,  enjoying  full  rights  under  the 
mercy  of  the  Mikado ;  albeit  ( as  the  bars  and  shut- 
ters of  his  windows  show),  the  money  lender  still 


THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI    161 

wisely  believes  in  keeping  his  powder  dry  even  in 
an  age  of  enlightenment. 

When  we  had  extricated  Hori  from  the  bi- 
cycle and  we  had  all  got  going  again,  he  explained 
why  the  pawnbroker  is  the  most  hated  member  of 
Nipponese  society.  Here  are  some  of  the  other 
remarks  that  Hori  made  about  pawnbrokers: 

They  are  always  rich.  (He  meant  the  Asiatic 
wealth, — hoards  of  gold,  not  a  checking  account 
at  a  bank.) 

They  are  uncanny. 

They  lead  isolated,  unhappy  lives. 

They  always  have  a  beautiful  daughter  (one 
only)  to  fall  heir  to  the  riches. 

This  daughter  dreams  of  noble  lovers,  but  no 
Japanese,  whatever  his  rank,  be  it  noble,  humble, 
or  decayed  (or,  for  that  matter,  no  matter  how 
much  in  debt  he  may  be  to  her  father),  would  ever 
throw  away  his  pride  to  wed  a  pawnbroker's 
daughter.  Thus  she  is  left  to  grieve  out  her  heart 
in  the  midst  of  her  father's  luxury. 

A  Japanese  believes  certain  things  patriotically. 
I  know  that  Hori  does  not  believe  these  same 
things  intellectually,  for  I  was  once  rude  enough 
to  continue  an  argument  until  he  capitulated 
intellectually — but  for  the  love  of  country  and 
the  required  loyalty  to  what  should  be,  he  also 


162  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

keeps  to  the  beliefs  which  he  should  have  as 
a  Japanese.  After  all,  juxtapositioned  to  such 
faith,  mere  intellectual  judgment  does  seem  lack- 
ing in  vital  fluid. 

The  hiatus  in  Hori's  Japanese  life — the  foreign 
period  and  influence — began  when  he  was  of  the 
high  school  age  and  went  to  America.  Thus, 
at  the  time  when  the  mind  is  supposed  to  be  most 
receptive,  he  was  separated  from  the  traditions 
and  ethical  customs  of  his  homeland,  and  he  made 
no  return  home  until  he  had  left  his  American  uni- 
versity. A  peculiar  duality  may  come  from  such 
a  training.  It  would  be  impossible  otherwise,  for 
instance,  that  one  individual  should  really  appre- 
ciate both  a  symphony  orchestra  and  a  samisen, 
not  so  much  from  the  angle  of  technical  diver- 
gence in  the  use  of  notes,  tones,  and  scales  as  in 
aesthetic  comparison.  To  any  human  being  with 
emotional  sensitiveness  and  response,  not  possess- 
ing a  dual  personality,  acknowledgment  of  the 
rights  of  the  symphony  would  seem  to  preclude 
those  of  the  samisen. 

I  had  lost  my  Japanese  pipe.  Those  little  iron 
bowls  continue  to  be  a  most  admirable  luxury 
through  all  of  the  days  that  one  is  in  the  land  of 
their  invention.  When  the  traveller  leaves  the 
shores  of  Japan  he  takes  away  with  him  packages 


THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI    163 

of  silken  tobacco  and  his  pipe,  only  to  find  that 
he  never  lights  it  again.  The  charm  is  broken 
when  the  circle  is  broken,  and  the  circle,  I  sup- 
pose, is  a  unity  when  one  is  lying  on  the  cushions 
of  a  balcony  overlooking  a  garden,  and  a  maid 
brings  the  charcoal  habachi  and  a  pot  of  tea. 
You  touch  the  bowl  of  the  pipe  to  the  fire  and 
then — three  puffs  and  a  half.  You  knock  the  ash 
into  a  bamboo  cup.  Perhaps  the  maid  refills 
the  pipe,  touches  it  to  the  charcoal,  and  hands  it 
to  you  again. 

Ordinarily  these  pipes  are  sold  everywhere,  but 
at  Narii  we  could  not  find  them.  When  we  were 
walking  into  Shiogiri  I  asked  Hori  to  help  me 
keep  an  eye  on  the  shops  as  we  passed.  After  a 
time  he  said:  "Here  we  are.  Here's  a  qne- 
pricejstore." 

We  had  not  come  upon  just  such  a  shop  before. 
While  the  stock  and  the  arrangement  was  purely 
native,  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  was  distinctly 
un-Japanese.  A  little  of  everything  was  for  sale, 
but  instead  of  the  selling  being  a  social  ceremony, 
the  shopkeeper  and  his  wife  and  his  sons  and  his 
daughters  were  expeditious  clerks  and  not  hosts. 
The  entering  customer  asked  for  what  he  wished 
to  see,  and  a  price  tag  told  him  the  cost.  That 
was  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  any  bargaining. 


164  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

In  the  conventional  shop  the  buyer  sits  down 
leisurely,  after  removing  his  geta,  and  perhaps 
has  a  cup  of  tea.  If  an  ordinary  utility  is  wished, 
the  negotiating  is  necessarily  devoid  of  much  op- 
portunity for  extended  approach,  consideration, 
and  conclusion,  but  it  is  always  to  be  remembered 
that  our  idea  of  what  is  a  waste  of  time  may  be 
the  Japanese  idea  of  a  valuably  used  moment. 
The  little  shops  have  no  opening  and  closing  hours. 
Literally,  there  is  all  the  time  there  is.  The 
clerk  does  not  sell  eight,  nine,  or  ten  hours  of 
his  day  to  his  employer.  He  sells  all  of  it. 
As  it  is  impossible  to  keep  at  high  pressure  for 
maybe  twenty  hours  of  the  twenty-four  (and 
twenty  hours  is  not  an  exaggeration  in  some  in- 
stances) nature's  insistence  for  rest  has  to  come 
out  of  the  working  day.  The  fact  that  the  work- 
ers are  not  awaiting  the  striking  of  a  clock  for 
their  liberty,  but  are  more  or  less  taking  it  as 
it  comes,  accounts  for  what  is  often  a  mystery 
to  travellers,  the  easy  gaiety  of  a  busy  Japanese 
street.  Workmen  put  down  their  tools  and  stop 
for  a  visit;  the  shopkeeper  chats  indefinitely 
with  a  customer;  the  maids  at  the  inns  have 
plenty  of  time  to  light  pipes  for  the  guests  and 
pour  tea.  Our  idea  is  that  the  individual's  lib- 
erty begins  at  the  sharp  demarcation  of  the  hour 


THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI    165 

which  ceases  to  belong  to  the  employer.  After 
the  wanderer  has  lived  for  a  time  in  the  midst 
of  the  Oriental  system,  the  impression  comes  that 
time  is  a  continuous  flow  and  that  it  is  not  a  suc- 
cession of  intervals  as  it  is  with  us.  The  people 
of  the  East  have  even  found  a  counteracting 
thrust  to  oppose  the  tyranny  of  the  railroad  sched- 
ule. By  arriving  at  the  station  indefinitely  early 
they  can  show  their  contempt  for  definite  de- 
partures. 

While  we  were  buying  my  new  twelve-sen  pipe 
in  the  Shiogiri  one-price  store,  Hori  commented 
with  obvious  emphasis  several  times  that  he  was 
pleased  that  the  prices  were  so  carefully  marked 
on  the  tags.  As  smoking  may  at  any  time  be- 
come a  ceremony,  I  spent  many  minutes  in  my 
selection,  and  through  these  minutes  Hori  kept 
dropping  his  pointed  comments,  but  I  stored  away 
the  impression  of  his  satisfaction  over  the  price 
tags  to  be  asked  about  later.  An  appropriate 
time  did  not  come  for  several  days.  An  hour 
came  when  we  were  lounging  on  an  inn  balcony 
in  the  soft  night  air. 

It  seemed  that  our  method  of  shopping  was  the 
disturbing  pressure  against  Hori's  peace  of  mind. 
We  two  foreigners  undoubtedly  had  many  flaws 
which  came  to  light  under  the  wear  of  intimate 


166  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

association,  but  it  was  this  one  which  at  last 
drove  Hori  to  the  verge  where  he  had  to  un- 
burden his  feelings.  In  the  curio  shops,  or  wher- 
ever we  were  making  purchases,  when  we  came 
upon  something  that  interested  us,  we  immedi- 
ately asked:  "How  much?"  It  had  been  natu- 
ral, when  Hori  was  with  us,  to  rely  upon  him 
to  interpret  rather  than  to  employ  our  own 
cumbrous  methods  of  transmitting  ideas.  As 
soon  as  we  received  an  intimation  of  the  bar- 
gain price  we  proceeded  to  the  bargaining  and 
continued  until  we  arrived  at  what  was  presum- 
ably the  lowest  compromise  of  the  shopkeeper. 
Hori  had  also  noticed  that  we  sometimes  put  off 
deciding  whether  we  really  wished  to  purchase 
until  we  discovered  the  eventual  price.  We  quite 
reversed  the  ceremonial  purchase  making  enacted 
by  a  Japanese  gentleman.  As  Hori  witnessed  it, 
the  difference  was  meaningful.  The  Japanese  col- 
lector looks  first  of  all  at  an  object  to  see  whether 
it  merits  his  attention.  If  it  does,  there  follows 
an  extended  conversation  about  its  intrinsic  ex- 
cellence. Every  question  as  to  artistic  value, 
authenticity,  age,  workmanship,  uniqueness — these 
are  all  settled  before  a  word  about  the  price  arises. 
If  the  object  does  not  equal  his  demands  of  it,  the 
collector  departs  without  inquiry  about  the  money 


THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI    167 

value — for  why  should  he  be  interested  in  the 
cost  of  an  article  if  not  in  the  article  itself? 

Hori  shook  his  head  sadly.  '  You  always  ask 
right  away:  'How  much?'  he  said.  "That 
sounds  very  mercenary  to  us.  It  looks  as  if  you 
were  more  interested  in  cheapness  than  quality." 

We  had  not  suspected  that  Hori  was  writhing 
when,  under  the  pressure  of  our  Occidental  im- 
petus, he  had  been  asking  for  us  the  questions  of 
price.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  be  it  to  his  credit 
and  our  discredit,  despite  the  simplification  of 
his  quick  interpreting  against  our  imperfect  use  of 
the  few  words  that  we  did  know,  when  it  came 
to  the  detail  of  price  our  efforts  often  seemed  to 
be  able  to  effect  a  more  extraordinary  drop  from 
the  original  quotation  than  when  such  arguing 
was  put  off  until  all  other  details  were  settled. 
It  is  true  that  the  merchants  who  have  really 
fine  things  will  not  show  nor  sell  their  best  to 
customers  whose  appreciation  they  doubt,  but 
it  may  also  be  true  that  as  far  as  we  did  have 
appreciation,  we  made  up  our  minds  more  quickly 
than  does  the  Japanese  collector,  and  thus  the 
stages  of  consideration  which  Hori  missed  were 
not  so  much  lacking  as  they  were  abbreviated. 

The  standards  of  the  samurai  when  he  goes 
forth  to  make  purchases  should  not  be  confused 


168  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

as  being  an  index  to  the  methods  of  modern 
Japan  in  attacking  the  world's  markets.  In  such 
trading  there  is  no  nation  which  is  more  intent 
upon  giving  the  customer  what  the  customer 
thinks  he  wants,  and  price  and  profit  are  suffi- 
ciently an  affair  of  cold  business  to  be  safely 
refrigerated  against  any  germs  of  sentimentalism. 
Hori  was  speaking  as  the  son  of  the  civilization 
which  flowered  in  the  feudal  days.  Whatever 
that  civilization  was,  it  was  not  commercial.  In 
that  old  regime  the  shopkeeper  was  only  a  shop- 
keeper, and  a  discussion  of  ethics  in  trade  occu- 
pied little  space  in  the  code  of  honour  of  the 
nation.  When  Hori's  fathers  stopped  to  buy  a 
fan  or  a  bronze  or  a  roll  of  brocade  or  sandals 
for  their  feet,  or  whatever  it  might  be  that  they 
wished,  bargaining  stopped  as  soon  as  they 
reached  the  end  of  their  patience — and  they  were 
most  impatient  warriors.  They  might  arro- 
gantly pay  what  was  asked,  or,  if  their  patience 
was  too  far  gone,  they  might  lop  off  the  head 
of  the  obdurate  merchant.  The  last  probability 
had  a  tendency  to  keep  prices  fairly  near  to  an 
equitable  level  when  the  two-sworded  men  were 
purchasers. 

It  is  not  an  appreciated  trait  in  the  modern 
world  to  have  contempt  for  money.    Japan's  no- 


WE  DECIDED  TO  TAKE  THE  MOST  ATTRACTIVE  TURN,  RIGHT  OR  WRONG 


THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI    169 

bility,  when  the  Shogun  ruled,  had  sincere  con- 
tempt for  money.  There  is  something  dramatic, 
even  noble,  in  having  such  a  contempt,  but  it 
must  be  said  that  it  is  a  much  easier  possession 
to  maintain  if  back  of  it  the  possessors  have  the 
inalienable  ownership  of  their  landed  estates. 
The  descendants  of  the  ancient  orders  in  Japan 
do  not  own  the  land  to-day  and,  examining  their 
position  in  the  cold  light  of  fact,  their  contempt 
for  any  consideration  of  things  commercial  is 
the  sign-board  finger  pointing  to  their  eventual 
elimination.  It  was  the  miracle  of  all  time  when 
those  noble  families  responded  to  the  necessity  of 
the  new  order,  forced  upon  Japan  by  the  outside 
world,  and  gave  up  their  feudal  right  to  the  land 
to  the  Emperor  for  a  more  democratic  distribu- 
tion. They  not  only  surrendered  their  land  in  re- 
sponse to  the  Emperor's  edict,  but  they  meta- 
morphosed their  sons  into  statesmen  to  help  carry 
through  the  ideal.  Their  children  went  to  foreign 
lands  and  laboured  at  menial  tasks  to  learn  the 
ways  of  the  seiyo-jin.  Returning  home  they  rec- 
ognized that  the  standards  both  of  commerce  and 
ordinary  trade  had  to  be  raised.  Their  encour- 
agement to  their  country  to  proceed  along  new 
lines  was  practical  and  effective;  nevertheless  few 
were  the  sons  of  the  nobility  who  themselves  en- 


170  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

tered  the  world  of  commerce.  Rather  was  it  that 
they  encouraged  a  middle  class  to  rise.  Even 
with  no  longer  a  perpetuation  of  power  through 
landed  estates,  the  old  aristocracy  has  so  far 
continued  to  exert  the  preponderating  influence 
in  national  leadership.  Can  they  continue  to 
cherish  a  contempt  of  money  and  at  the  same 
time  withstand  the  power  of  the  new  commercial 
class  which  is  becoming  richer  every  year  while 
they  are  becoming  poorer?  Can  they  prove  that, 
even  in  this  age,  honour  and  loyalty  need  not  have 
to  go  hand  in  hand  with  money,  and  that  poverty, 
second  only  to  death,  is  not  the  great  leveller? 

Curiously,  indeed,  the  abandon  which  comes 
from  contempt  for  wealth  by  this  class  in  Japan 
has  had  a  bullish  effect  in  one  small  department 
of  world  trade.  Westerners  first  thought  of 
Japan  as  a  nation  so  given  over  to  aestheticism 
that  it  used  its  hours  in  creating  beautiful  works 
of  art  and  then  admiring  them.  In  those  early 
days  examples  of  their  highest  achievement  in  art 
were  to  be  found  at  increditably  low  prices.  For 
a  decade  or  two  after  its  ports  were  forced  open 
by  the  foreigner,  the  country  was  absorbed  in 
adjusting  itself  to  meet  conditions  unique  to  its 
traditions.  It  was  a  revolution  which  had  to  en- 
dure the  strain  of  the  uncompromising  lavishness 


THE  IDEALS  OF  A  SAMURAI    171 

of  war  without  the  excitement  of  war.  In  such 
a  period  "  priceless  "  art  objects  had  their  price. 
Those  objects  of  art  had  been  so  intimately  as- 
sociated with  the  calm  of  the  old  order  in  its 
social  and  religious  system  that  when  that  order 
gave  ground  the  Japanese  disregarded  such  pos- 
sessions. It  was  then  that  gold  lacquer  boxes 
were  either  sold  for  a  sum  equal  to  the  mere 
salvage  of  the  gold  or  else  melted  in  the  furnace. 
Those  first  years  of  readjustment  presented  the 
glorious  days  for  the  foreign  collector.  Then 
came  reaction.  To  their  own  bewilderment  the 
Japanese  awoke  to  find  that  their  love  for  the 
beautiful  had  not  been  merely  an  appendage  of 
the  feudal  system.  They  began  to  compete  for 
their  own  treasures.  Prices  began  to  advance  to 
the  mystification  of  the  foreign  buyers.  The  Jap- 
anese aristocrats  were  entering  into  collecting  with 
that  abandon  which  can  exist  only  through  sincere 
contempt  for  money.  Thus  it  is  that  very  few 
fine  things  now  come  out  of  Japan.  Japan  is 
poor,  desperately  poor,  and  it  would  seem  that  our 
millionaires  should  easily  outbid  them,  but  to  a 
mind  commercially  trained,  eventually  there  enters 
a  consideration  of  price.  To  the  son  of  the  old 
Japanese  nobility  there  is  no  such  consideration 
except  the  limit  of  his  purse.  I  heard  the  story 


172  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

of  a  young  nobleman  who  desired  a  certain  Korean 
antique.  His  wealth  was  about  six  hundred 
thousand  yen.  Like  the  Roman  youth  who  shook 
dice,  hazarding  himself  to  become  the  slave  of  his 
opponent  should  he  lose,  this  young  Japanese  en- 
tered the  bidding  until  it  was  his  last  yen  which 
bought  the  antiquity.  The  dilettante  does  not 
bid  successfully  against  that  spirit. 


VIII 

MANY  QUERIES 

IN  abrupt  change  as  we  neared  Shiogiri  the 
people  grew  more  prosperous  and  more  smiling. 
One  housewife  along  the  way  was  busy  with  a 
gigantic  baking  in  the  sun.  I  have  forgotten  just 
what  she  said  the  small  cakes  were  which  she  was 
patting  out  so  expeditiously  by  the  hundred. 
Her  hands  coquettishly  fell  into  error  in  her  rou- 
tine when  we  wished  her  good-day.  She  had 
an  adventurous  spirit  behind  the  work-a-day 
masque  of  her  face.  Inordinate  questioners  as 
we  could  generally  prove  ourselves,  it  was  she 
who  took  and  kept  the  lead  in  every  kind  of  inter- 
rogation. She  wanted  to  know  all  about  the  great 
world  over  the  ridge  of  mountains  which  stopped 
her  sight.  She  followed  this  questioning  with  an 
exposition  of  facts  which  she  already  knew  about 
foreigners.  She  could  be  quite  sure,  she  said, 
that  the  information  which  she  had  previously 
collected  through  gossip  had  in  no  way  been  adul- 
terated by  exaggeration.  The  proof  was  that 
we  looked  exactly  as  she  had  hitherto  imagined 

173 


174  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

foreigners.  This  comment  was  more  interesting 
than  flattering.  Her  anecdotes  about  foreigners 
were  fluently  parallel  to  the  tales  about  pagans 
which  I  used  to  hear  as  a  child  from  the  cook 
when  she  returned  from  her  missionary  circle. 

I  asked  our  hostess  if  she  would  let  me  take  her 
picture.  My  hesitation  in  asking  was  an  unneces- 
sary contribution  to  the  proceedings.  She  was 
much  pleased.  She  patted  down  her  hair,  rubbed 
her  cheeks  with  a  pale  blue  towel  until  they  were 
rosy  red,  and  then  dusted  her  hands  and  arms 
with  rice  powder.  After  that  she  ran  into  the 
house  to  reappear  without  her  trousers.  Hori 
told  her  quickly  that  foreigners  are  greatly 
shocked  to  see  women  in  skirts.  We  appropri- 
ately pretended  to  be  unseeing  long  enough  for 
the  hasty  redonning  of  the  discarded  trousers  and 
then  the  camera  clicked. 

Foreigners,  particularly  missionaries,  are  by  no 
means  unknown  in  the  quarter  of  Shiogiri  built 
around  the  railway  station.  The  town  is  a  rather 
important  junction.  At  the  new  inn  the  servants 
who  met  us  at  the  door  told  us  that  they  knew 
just  what  the  foreigner  likes.  We  in  our  ob- 
stinacy refused  to  like  what  the  foreigners  who 
had  come  before  us  had  said  that  they  liked.  It 
was  one  of  the  least  happy  of  all  our  rests. 


MANY  QUERIES  175 

The  service  in  the  shiny  new  inn  had  lost  the 
spontaneity,  the  not-to-be-imitated  bloom  of  the 
yado-ya  which  makes  each  guest  believe  that  he  is 
the  most  honoured.  It  had  resolved  into  the 
inevitable  mortification  which  comes  from  trying 
to  please  two  masters.  When  they  asked  whether 
we  wished  native  dishes  or  foreign  dishes  for 
dinner,  we  kept  insisting  that  we  wished  Japanese 
fare,  but  the  inn  could  not  shake  itself  free  from 
compromises  and  we  had  a  native  dinner  cooked 
after  some  imagined  foreign  style;  just  as  we 
would  have  had  a  semblance  of  a  foreign  dinner 
cooked  in  the  native  pots  if  we  had  consented  to 
act  our  proper  parts  as  seiyo-jins.  The  trouble 
with  such  in-between  places  is  not  so  much  that 
they  are  jerry-built  or  that  the  ignorance  of  why 
is  naturally  followed  by  an  ignorance  of  how,  but 
that  something  essentially  vital  has  been  ab- 
stracted; the  fire  has  gone,  and  the  result  is  a 
listless  lassitude. 

Across  the  street  was  the  entrance  to  another 
inn,  with  an  electric  sign  at  trie  gate  and  with 
two  rows  of  paper  lanterns  hanging  over  the 
path.  While  we  were  taking  a  walk  and  looking 
in  at  the  shops  Hori  picked  up  the  information 
from  someone  that  the  rival  establishment  to  ours 
was  half  inn,  half  geisha  house,  that  the  maids,  in 


176  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

fact,  were  country  geishas.  Every  geisha  must 
have  a  geisha's  ticket  from  the  government  to  fol- 
low her  vocation  of  innocent  amusing.  All  geishas 
are  not  innocent,  but  says  the  government,  if 
they  are  not  they  must  possess  another  license. 
Through  its  varieties  and  grade  of  licenses  the 
government  relies  largely  upon  maintaining  order; 
thus,  much  of  the  work  of  the  police  is  devoted  to 
social  regulation  to  prevent  disorder  rather  than 
to  the  otherwise  necessity  of  curbing  it  after  it 
breaks  forth.  In  any  social  system,  whether  the 
general  scheme  reaches  out  for  the  ideal  or  not, 
if  the  cogs  fit  in  smoothly  enough  to  work  at  all, 
the  logical  conclusion  reads  that  the  better  the 
machine  runs  the  more  nearly  have  the  everyday, 
actual  wishes  of  the  people  been  satisfied.  In 
Japan  the  social  regulations  and  the  demands  of 
the  popular  moral  standard  appear  to  mesh  with- 
out much  friction.  This  does  not  mean  that  the 
social  problem  has  been  solved,  but  it  does  mean 
that  the  compromise  has  measurably  been  made 
with  eyes  open  and  thus  some  evils  have  been  suc- 
cessfully eliminated. 

The  geisha  tea-houses  have  their  special  licenses, 
and  inns  have  special  licenses.  While  many  com- 
binations of  licenses  are  possible,  it  is  contrary  to 
custom  to  issue  a  permit  to  a  geisha  house  to  have 


MANY  QUERIES  177 

all  the  privileges  of  an  inn.  Hori  thought  that 
there  might  be  licenses  of  that  sort  issued  in  the 
smaller  provincial  towns  such  as  Shiogiri.  What- 
ever the  facts  were,  such  a  combination  license 
would  seem  to  be  contrary  to  the  usual  intent  pf 
the  regulations.  The  government  proceeds  about 
its  business  of  regulation  without  much  sentiment, 
but  it  does  seek  by  its  very  system  of  labelling  to 
secure  to  the  innocent  the  assurance  of  travelling 
through  the  kingdom  without  unwittingly  having 
to  come  into  contact  with  vice.  The  traveller  is 
supposed  to  be  able  to  go  to  an  inn  without  hav- 
ing to  inquire  whether  it  is  also  a  questionable 
tea-house. 

It  might  seem  that  the  easiest  way  to  have 
found  out  what  was  the  exact  status  of  the  inn 
across  the  street  would  have  been  to  have  walked 
there  and  asked.  Hori,  however,  was  lukewarm 
for  any  such  investigation.  I  discovered  in  this 
mood  of  Hori's  cosmos  a  trait  more  interesting 
than  the  entire  subject  of  licenses.  The  intuition 
came  suddenly  in  a  wholeness.  This  trait  might 
have  been  called  patriotic,  a  patriotism  so  very 
broad  that  in  the  first  inkling  it  seemed  narrow. 
He  had  a  deep  desire  that  we  should  understand 
Japanese  ideals,  and  his  process  of  thought  was 
that  while  he  believed  that  to  understand  Japan 


178  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

we  must  see  everything,  nevertheless  at  all  times 
there  should  be  a  certain  normality  in  the  seeing. 
As  he  explained,  many  Japanese  customs  and 
modes  of  thought,  puzzling  at  first,  are  quite 
comprehensible  when  the  entire  fabric  is  examined. 
He  did  not  wish  to  have  certain  squares  of  the 
embroidery  held  up  to  be  criticized  without  the 
offset  of  properly  contrasting  squares.  Naturally 
his  own  impetus  often  carried  him  a  little  beyond 
that  normal  into  looking  for  the  bright  and  golden 
patches  and  ignoring  the  dull  ones.  I  think  he 
was  theoretically  right,  but  most  of  us  have  a 
childish  overconfidence  in  our  maturity  and  we 
do  not  wish  to  have  it  doubted  that  we  are 
capable  observers  even  of  the  abnormal.  Experi- 
ence has  not  trained  us  to  follow,  even  if  we 
wished,  an  idealized  instruction.  Thus  I  am  afraid 
that  O-Owre-san  and  I  remained  recalcitrant 
observers  most  of  the  time  and  in  our  own  way 
used  our  philosophical  microscopes  in  grandiose 
attempt  to  disintegrate  the  atom  and  conclude 
the  infinite. 

It  is  true  that  the  most  balanced  mind  can  be 
poisoned  by  an  impression.  We  are  sensitized 
to  light  and  shade.  The  traveller  who  goes  to 
one  of  the  great  capitals  of  the  world  and  endures 
as  his  first  impression  a  visit  to  the  dregs  of  the 


MANY  QUERIES  179 

underworld  forever  finds  the  darkness  of  that 
shadow  over  his  concept  of  aught  else.  This  com- 
parison is  indeed  putting  a  superlative  exaggera- 
tion upon  Hori's  not  wishing  to  go  to  the  inn-tea- 
house across  the  street.  Just  because  I  happened 
to  glean  something  of  his  attitude  about  our 
excursion  as  a  whole  from  that  particular  inci- 
dent did  not  mean  that  he  was  attaching  particu- 
lar importance  to  it.  The  subject  was  dropped 
and  as  we  were  all  tired,  we  went  to  bed,  and  al- 
lowed the  double  row  of  paper  lanterns  to  swing 
on  in  the  breeze  without  our  three  figures  casting 
shadows  on  the  path  beneath,  and  the  question 
that  interested  me  about  what  sort  of  a  license 
had  been  issued  there  was  never  settled. 

The  next  morning  O-Owre-san  and  I  were  off 
at  an  early  hour,  leaving  Hori  to  follow  on  the 
bicycle.  The  heavy  dew  had  clotted  the  dust 
and  the  cobwebs  were  glistening.  It  was  so  cold 
that  we  fell  into  our  fastest  gait,  but  perversely 
the  town  kept  creating  some  new  and  picturesque 
allurement  to  slow  our  stride  at  almost  every 
pace.  Many  of  the  most  important  houses  had 
the  dignity  of  villas.  I  suppose  the  owners  of 
those  houses  look  upon  the  town's  activity  as  a 
railway  junction  not  as  a  crowning  glory  but 
as  a  deplorable  disturbance.  Before  the  railroad 


180  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

was  dreamed  of,  Japan's  aristocracy  had  cherished 
that  particular  hillside  overlooking  the  view  of 
the  valley  with  the  snow  ridges  beyond.  The 
prosperous  shopkeeping  streets  were  busy  even 
at  our  early  hour;  boys  and  girls  were  flushing 
the  pavements,  fanning  out  the  water  from, 
wooden  dippers;  the  fathers  were  taking  down 
the  shutters;  and  the  mothers  were  giving  indis- 
criminate directions  while  they  rubbed  their  eyes 
and  pulled  their  kimonos  straight.  Many  greeted 
us  with  a  cheery  ff  O-hayo" 

At  the  edge  of  the  town  a  temple  gate  stood 
invitingly  open  and  we  entered  the  garden  and 
crossed  a  diminutive  bridge  to  an  island.  We  sat 
down  to  listen  to  the  birds,  admire  the  butterflies, 
and  watch  the  gold  and  silver  fish  bob  out  of  the 
water.  The  silent  temple,  hidden  in  the  shadows 
of  the  trees,  was  built  after  the  noble  lines  of  the 
Kyoto  tradition  and  may  have  been  contemporary 
with  that  era.  We  were  waiting  for  Hori.  We 
knew  that  we  had  several  intricate  turnings  be- 
fore we  should  come  to  our  mountain  road  to 
Kama-Suwa,  and  we  were  indulging  ourselves 
that  morning  in  unwonted  conservatism  over  the 
possibility  of  a  mistake.  We  sat  for  some  time 
waiting  to  hear  the  jangling  of  the  bicycle  bell, 
but  as  no  such  sound  came  from  the  distance  and 


MANY  QUERIES  181 

as  the  sun  had  not  warmed  the  air,  we  decided  to 
take  the  most  attractive  turns  that  came,  right  or 
wrong.  The  street  that  intrigued  our  fancy 
wound  delightfully  between  large  country  houses. 
While  there  was  nothing  except  the  trees  and  a 
certain  pervading  atmosphere  to  suggest  the 
English  country,  nevertheless  there  was  the  in- 
stinctive feeling  that  within  those  screened,  luxu- 
rious houses  the  sleeping  families  were  quality 
folk,  a  class  never  forgetting  that  their  position 
carries  responsibilities,  duties,  and  privileges.  To 
meet  a  panting  coolie  dragging  a  'ricksha  along 
an  English  lane  would  strike  one  not  only  as 
strange  but  ridiculous.  To  have  seen  a  gate  open 
that  morning  in  the  outskirts  of  Shiogiri  and 
to  have  had  a  shining  British  dogcart  swing  out 
into  the  road  atop  the  heels  of  a  cob  would  have 
seemed  neither  incongruous  nor  absurd.  That's 
the  reward  the  English  achieve  from  their  de- 
vout worship  of  the  correct.  In  any  corner 
of  the  globe  when  the  beholder  finds  people 
getting  serious  about  form,  his  mind  immedi- 
ately institutes  a  comparison  with  the  British 
standard. 

We  walked  on  into  a  maze  of  hills.  In  the 
age  of  chaos  the  mountain  range  had  tried  to 
turn  to  the  south  but,  meeting  some  powerful  op- 


182  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

position,  had  been  rolled  back  over  on  itself. 
When  we  came  to  the  meeting  of  a  half-dozen 
crooked  paths  there  was  no  possible  guess  for 
our  direction.  We  sat  down  in  the  sun  for  a  few 
minutes,  allowing  that  much  time  to  good  fortune 
to  send  us  help,  if  the  god  of  luck  should  so 
wish  to  aid,  before  attempting  anything  on  our 
own  initiative.  We  were  sent  two  farmers  whom 
we  almost  lost  through  their  sudden  surprise  upon 
seeing  us  spring  up  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
However,  they  had  only  been  startled,  and  they 
did  not  think  we  were  transformed  demons.  They 
entered  into  an  energetic  discussion  of  our  route, 
insisting  that  we  take  the  trail  which  was  the 
faintest  of  all  and  which  seemingly  wandered  off 
in  the  most  irresponsible  way.  It  first  crossed  a 
footbridge  over  the  stream.  One  of  the  men 
dug  a  map  in  the  dust  with  his  toe.  We  finally 
parted  with  bows  and  protestations  of  gratitude 
and  they  stood  in  the  valley  and  directed  us  on 
our  climb  as  long  as  we  could  see  them.  Then 
they  waved  a  final  adieu  and  started  on  their  own 
path. 

It  was  decidedly  a  short  cut  they  had  disclosed. 
When  we  were  on  a  summit  we  discovered  Hori 
far  below  wheeling  over  the  long  valley  road  and 
undoubtedly  wondering  why  he  did  not  overtake 


MANY  QUERIES  183 

us.  Probably  a  'ricksha  could  get  through  those 
hills  by  keeping  to  the  lower  paths,  but  neither 
our  generation  nor  that  of  our  children's  children 
will  find  those  narrow  trails  made  over  into 
motor  highways.  For  generations  the  tramper  will 
have  his  "  unspoiled "  Japan.  It  is  true  that 
east  to  west  the  mountains  have  been  pierced  by 
two  lines  of  railway  and  the  foot  trails  sometimes 
cross  the  steel,  but  now  that  the  railroads  have 
been  built  the  trains  running  through  the  valleys 
and  plunging  into  the  tunnels  seem  to  be  as  alien 
to,  as  outside  the  lives  of  the  mountain  folk,  and 
as  little  considered  in  their  existence  as  the  in- 
visible messages  hastening  along  the  telegraph 
wires.  Japan  has  been  opened  to  the  world  and 
science  has  brought  an  infinite  change  to  the 
Japan  that  we  think  of,  but  over  those  mountain 
paths  long  lines  of  coolies  stagger  with  their  loads 
of  merchandise  as  did  they  in  the  days  before 
wheels  were  invented.  Many  of  the  coolies  are 
women  and  girls.  Over  the  steep  miles  the  backs 
of  the  little  girls  are  bent  under  chests  which, 
thrown  to  the  ground,  would  be  large  enough  for 
playhouses.  I  know  nowhere  else  in  the  world 
where  faces  do  not  grow  stolid  and  stupid  under 
such  strain,  but  these  women  and  little  girls  often 
turn  upon  you  faces  not  only  pretty  but  even 


184  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

strangely  beautiful  as  they  raise  their  heads  for  a 
quick  glance.  Their  wistful  eyes  ask  unanswer- 
able questions.  You  feel  as  if  they  were  eternally 
pondering  the  why. 

I  do  not  mean  that  such  glimpses  can  bring 
more  than  a  merest  intuition  of  a  people's  atti- 
tude toward  life.  Such  a  gossamer  web  of  intui- 
tion is  a  personal  speculation,  but  it  may  be  not 
too  presumptuous  for  foreign  eyes  to  make  a 
diagnostic  examination  of  physical  characteris- 
tics and  to  believe  that  some  truth  may  be  reached 
from  accumulated  observations.  While  the  Jap- 
anese nation  is  old  in  history  and  civilization, 
and  while  time's  hammer  has  made  the  people  as 
nearly  homogeneous  as  is  synthetically  possible, 
nevertheless  their  predominant  physical  character- 
istic is  that  as  a  race  they  are  youthful  in  vitality. 
The  coolie  bends  his  shoulders  to  as  heavy  a  load 
as  he  can  carry,  but  also  does  the  coolie  of  South- 
ern India.  Existence  seems  to  offer  not  much  more 
in  prizes  to  one  than  the  other  beyond  the  promise 
of  the  opportunity  to  labour  day  after  day  until 
death,  but  in  the  Indian's  face  one  reads  that  the 

;• 

draught  of  unquestioning  acceptance  of  fate  was 
drunk  by  his  fathers  ages  ago.  That  strong  arch 
of  the  Japanese  jaw  means  future.  The  struggle 
among  nations  for  dictatorship  may  end  in  com- 


IS  IT  IDOLATROUS  TO  WORSHIP  FUJI? 


MANY  QUERIES  185 

petition's  giving  the  award  to  the  people  having 
the  best  teeth. 

We  passed  two  or  three  lonely,  terraced  farms 
where  the  earth  was  being  coaxed  and  coddled  not 
to  run  away,  but  through  most  of  the  hours  of  the 
climb  the  mountain  sides  were  a  forest  reservation 
serving  as  a  reservoir  to  save  the  water  of  the 
streams  for  the  lower  valleys.    When  we  came  to 
a  spring  gushing  from  the  hill  we  drank,  an  action 
which  is   sternly   warned   against,   and   probably 
with    absolute    justification.     However,    with    a 
four-mile-an-hour  pace  under  the  July  sun  thirst 
becomes  positive.    We  mixed  into  the  clear  water, 
against  any  lurking  germs,  the  antidote  of  decid- 
ing to  consider  ourselves  immune.     After  a  time 
our  trail  brought  us  down  again  into  the  valley, 
and  it  was  not  until  then  that  Hori  caught  up 
with  us  although  he  had  been  circling  around  the 
base  of  the   hills   at   full   speed.     He   found   us 
locked  in  a  bargaining  struggle  with  a  gooseberry 
peddler.     The  man  was  carrying  his  produce  in 
a  bucket  swung  at  one  end  of  a  yoke  across  his 
shoulders,    and   his    pensive    little    daughter    was 
balancing  the  load  by  sitting  in  the  other  bucket. 
Our  first  advances  had  unutterably  confused  his 
wits,  beginning  with  the  logical  wonderment  why 
two  pedestrians  miles  from  any  town  should  wish 


186  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

to  buy  green  gooseberries.  As  the  bargaining 
continued  his  puzzlement  was  relieved  by  a  sudden 
lightning  suspicion.  We  were  not  buying  goose- 
berries, we  were  trying  to  buy  his  daughter!  It 
seemed  so  discourteous  to  rob  him  of  his  hard 
thought  out  solution  that  I  urged  O-Owre-san 
strongly  to  adopt  the  child  and  carry  her  off  in 
his  rucksack.  It  was  just  then  that  Hori  arrived. 
He  jerked  the  demon  bicycle  to  a  stop  and  vaulted 
to  the  ground.  At  first  he  was  as  uncomprehend- 
ing of  why  we  wished  to  load  up  with  green 
gooseberries  as  had  been  the  peddler,  but  that 
night  he  fully  acknowledged  the  value  of  our 
whim  when  the  berries,  stewed  in  sugar,  stood 
before  him. 

I  had  taken  the  camera  out  of  my  pack  but 
the  man  was  most  suspicious  of  it.  We  compro- 
mised that  I  should  stand  up  and  show  just 
what  taking  a  picture  was.  As  soon  as  I  made 
the  demonstration  his  quick  refusal  against  such 
devil's  work  followed.  Quite  by  chance  the  cam- 
era had  clicked  during  the  demonstration. 

April-like  showers  had  been  tumbling  upon  us 
now  and  again  without  disturbing  the  sunshine. 
We  had  one  more  long  climb  and  then  found  our- 
selves with  Lake  Suwa  far  below.  The  town 
of  Kama-suwa  rested  on  the  farther  shore  of  the 


MANY  QUERIES  187 

lake  in  a  narrow  line  of  houses.  Despite  the 
rain  flurries  the  day  seemed  very  clear,  but  we 
did  not  have  the  famous  first  view  of  O-Fuji-san 
which  sometimes  gloriously  greets  the  traveller 
when  he  stands,  as  did  we,  suddenly  on  the  heights 
above  the  lake.  On  those  rare  days  the  mountain 
rises  against  the  blue  sky,  the  vista  coming  through 
a  sharp  gap  in  the  granite  hills,  and  casts  its 
image  on  the  grey-blue  waters.  This  is  the  view 
from  the  north.  The  conventional  view  is  from 
the  south,  but  the  sacred  mountain  lessens  never 
in  beauty  as  the  worshipper  circles  the  paths  about 
its  base,  north,  south,  east,  or  west.  Like  a 
glorious  and  beautiful  soul,  its  moods  change 
while  it  changes  not. 

Is  it  idolatrous  to  worship  Fuji?  Is  it  pagan 
to  love  its  beauty,  to  feel  one's  spirit  freed  for 
a  brief  moment,  forgetful  of  experience  tugging 
at  one's  elbow,  of  caution,  of  fear,  of  expediency, 
of  pride? 


IX 

THE  INN  AT  KAMA-SUWA 

THE  railway  train  with  its  sly  befuddling 
through  the  luxury  of  speed  has  picked  the  trav- 
eller's wallet.  Cooped  behind  a  smudged  window, 
how  can  he  sense  the  personality  of  the  town  he 
enters?  One  should  stand  in  isolation  on  the 
heights  above  a  city,  and  then  follow  down  some 
path  until  within  the  streets  one  is  absorbed  by 
the  throbbing  life.  (Hobo  Jack,  ipse  dixit.  And 
is  this  not  true?) 

To  appreciate  Kama-Suwa's  surcharge  of  cul- 
ture, prosperity,  and  importance,  the  reader  should 
think  of  a  small  city  in  Kansas  (one  of  those 
temperate,  prosperous,  ideal  cities  of  which  one 
has  a  vividly  exact  idea  without  the  proof  or 
disproof  from  having  visited  it).  I  say  this, 
knowing  only  the  standardized  impression  of 
those  ideal  cities,  but  often  a  common,  stand- 
ardized impression  may  be  more  expeditious,  not 
to  say  more  valuable,  or  even  more  truthful,  to 
communicate  a  comparison  than  the  truth  itself. 

188 


THE  INN  AT  KAMA-SUWA       189 

Thus,  by  such  a  comparison  let  Kama-Suwa  be 
known. 

The  Kama-Suwa  streets  are  filled  with  good 
citizens;  the  shops  are  superior,  the  town  has 
"  as  fine  a  school  system  as  you  could  find  any- 
where"; the  temple  is  "well  supported";  and 
there  are  not  any  very  poor  people.  Also  the 
town  has  famous  hot  springs  and  famous  views. 
In  the  age  when  Nature  was  distributing  her 
gifts  she  favoured  Suwa  with  excessive  partiality, 
in  anticipation,  perhaps,  of  the  future  births  of 
to-day's  appreciative,  virtuous,  honest,  and  in- 
dustrious Kama-Suwans. 

We  had  had  a  good  report  of  a  certain  inn  in 
the  town  and,  after  we  reached  the  path  around 
the  shore,  Hori  went  ahead  on  the  bicycle  to 
prepare  the  way.  The  machine's  parts  were 
working  together  with  remarkable  smoothness  that 
day,  perhaps  because  its  superfluous  temper  had 
been  cooled  down  through  its  having  been  left 
out  in  a  short,  hard  beating  rain  while  we  were 
taking  refuge  under  a  tree.  We  promised  Hori 
to  hurry,  but  we  did  not.  The  mountains  over- 
hanging the  lake  were  responsible  in  the  begin- 
ning for  our  forgetting  our  word,  but  we  aug- 
mented that  beginning  by  finding  some  cause  for 
a  violent  argument,  one  of  those  tempestuous 


190  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

discussions  which  gain  their  heat  from  the  in- 
sidious conceding  of  small  points.  An  obstinate, 
unyielding  opponent  who  stays  put  is  a  far  more 
satisfactory  antagonist.  We  were  well  into  the 
town  before  we  discovered  that  we  were  hemmed 
in  by  houses.  The  interruption  which  opened  our 
eyes  was  a  polite  pulling  at  our  sleeves.  One 
waylayer,  out  of  the  many  who  had  surrounded 
us,  had  cast  away  in  despair  the  usual  Japanese 
respect  for  not  touching  the  person. 

Why  our  entry  had  created  such  excess  of 
excitement  we  could  not  imagine.  We  had  grown 
blase  in  our  role  of  being  interesting  exhibits. 
One  may  even  grow  so  accustomed  to  having  an 
interest  taken  in  every  detail  that  a  lack  of 
acknowledgment  of  curiosity  seems  the  abnormal. 
This  time  mere  curiosity  did  not  appear  to  be 
the  factor.  Each  waylayer  was  trying  to  speak. 
In  the  confusion  I  could  not  catch  one  familiar 
word.  I  knew  most  of  the  names  that  are  some- 
times cried  at  foreigners  in  the  port  cities,  but 
there  was  nothing  hostile  in  the  present  attack. 
As  a  sedative  I  tried  to  ask  the  way  to  the  inn 
but  my  simple  question  increased  the  babel.  We 
had  no  answer  that  we  could  understand.  We  had 
been  smiling  and  bearing  the  mystery,  and  there 
was  no  choice  but  to  continue  so  doing.  Every 


THE  INN  AT  KAMA-SUWA        191 

shopkeeper  in  the  street  was  apparently  out  now, 
helping  to  gesticulate  if  not  to  add  words.  We 
had  continued  walking  and  we  came  to  an  open 
space.  All  the  brown  hands  simultaneously 
pointed  in  a  dramatic  sweep  across  a  swampy 
field.  On  the  roof  of  a  large,  new  building  stood 
Kenjiro  Hori.  He  had  changed  into  a  kimono 
which  he  was  modestly  trying  to  hold  around  him 
in  the  freshening  breeze  and  at  the  same  time 
to  wave  a  huge  white  sheet  with  all  the  energy 
of  his  other  wiry  arm. 

When  we  reached  the  door  Hori  had  come 
down  from  the  roof.  He  was  very  expeditious 
in  his  instructions  to  the  servants  and  our  shoes 
were  off  and  we  were  in  our  room  before  we 
had  a  chance  to  ask  a  question. 

"  Now  that  we're  settled "  Hori  began  with 

a  slight  accent  on  the  "  settled."  He  then  hesi- 
tated. 

'  Yes  ?  "  we  inquired. 

"  Oh,  I  was  just  going  to  ask  whether  you 
wouldn't  rather  dry  your  clothes  and  take  a  bath 
before  we  go  exploring  around  the  town." 

As  O-Owre-san  had  been  answering  that  ques- 
tion by  hanging  up  his  wet  clothes  and  getting 
into  a  cotton  kimono,  it  did  not  seem  to  require 
argument. 


192  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

"  Is  the  bath  ready? "  he  asked. 

"  It's  always  ready — natural  hot  springs,"  Hori 
answered. 

I  stacked  up  some  cushions  and  stretched  out 
in  comfort  along  the  balcony.  I  sipped  tea  and 
smoked  until  I  was  sure  O-Owre-san  would  not 
be  returning  for  something  forgotten.  I  had  been 
suspecting  that  Hori's  nonchalance  had  clay  feet. 

"  O-Hori-san,"  I  asked,  "  what  did  you  say 
was  the  name  of  this  inn? " 

O-Owre-san  was  always  off  to  the  bath  as  soon 
as  his  feet  were  inside  an  inn.  This  time  I  had 
marvelled  that  the  habit  was  so  strong  that  he 
could  put  off  attempting  to  solve  the  mystery 
of  our  reception,  especially  as  Hori's  naive  casual- 
ness  suggested  that  he  knew  the  kernel  of  the 
mystery. 

"  It's  a  new  inn.  Very  good,  don't  you  think?  " 
Hori  answered  my  question. 

"  What  is  the  secret? "  I  demanded.  It  was 
evidently  very  dark  and  if  the  facts  had  to  be 
modified  in  the  telling,  I  thought  that  perhaps 
they  might  come  forth  less  modified  for  me  than 
for  O-Owre-san.  The  other  inn  had  been  one 
of  our  few  planned  quests.  'Why  didn't  we 
go  to  the  other  inn? " 

It  may  have  been  most  unfair  to  use  such  a 


THE  INN  AT  KAMA-SUWA       193 

direct  method  of  questioning,  especially  the  dis- 
tressing, bee-line  "  hurry-up."  I  was  trading 
upon  my  being  a  foreigner  from  a  land  without 
the  tradition  of  the  proper  ceremony  of  questions. 

Yes,  Hori  had  visited  the  inn  of  which  we  had 
had  the  superior  report.  It  was  a  most  superior 
place.  He  paused.  Then  he  vouchsafed  the  in- 
formation that  it  was  expensive.  That  was  indeed 
a  serious  objection.  He  thought  that  the  bill 
there  might  have  come  to  three,  four,  or  even  five 
yen  a  day.  That  explanation  should  have  been 
final  enough  for  me.  It  was,  in  fact.  I  would 
have  accepted  it.  I  merely  happened  to  ask 
whether  he  had  looked  at  the  rooms. 

'  Yes,"  said  he,  and  then  he  suddenly  threw 
discretion  away.  "  And  what  do  you  think? 
They  had  rocking-chairs  and  American  bureaus 
in  the  rooms" 

Poor  Hori!  He  had  been  having  to  listen 
to  us  .inveigh  in  American  exaggeration  against 
the  infamous  inroads  of  modernity.  I  cannot 
imagine  that  he  took  our  chants  of  hatred  against 
innovations  actually  at  their  word  value,  but  he 
had  had  much  reason  to  become  weary  and  bored 
from  their  repetition.  He  implied  that  his  reason 
for  leaving  the  other  inn  was  for  our  aesthetic 
protection,  but  be  it  said  he  was  wise  in  his  own 


194  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

protection.  There  is  not  much  doubt  that  if  we 
had  reached  the  presence  of  those  rooms  there 
would  have  been  another  merry-to-do  of  wild 
epithets  against  machine-made  American  export 
furniture  bespoiling  native  simplicity  for  him  to 
listen  to.  The  tourist  animal  is  truly  a  snobbish 
beast,  and  natives  should  occasionally  be  given 
dispensations  for  outright  murder. 

Once  I  was  chatting  over  tall  iced  lemon 
squashes  with  a  Japanese  physician.  In  a  surge 
of  confidence,  and  also  in  burning  curiosity,  he 
told  me  about  his  trip  to  Ajnerica.  He  had 
learned  his  English  in  Japan.  While  visiting  a 
family  whom  he  had  known  in  his  homeland,  he 
met  one  of  America's  daughters  who  asked  him 
to  call.  He  was  somewhat  startled  by  the  invita- 
tion but  he  remembered  that  he  was  not  in  the 
Orient.  He  described  the  conversation  to  me  in 
awed  phrases. 

"  She  had  a  box  of  chocolates.  '  Do  you 
know,'  she  said,  *  I  am  mad  about  chocolates, 
simply  crazy.' 

"  I  thought,"  he  explained,  "  that  she  was  con- 
fessing to  a  craving  appetite  and  wished  my 
assistance  and  advice.  I  imagined,  then,  that  I 
knew  the  reason  of  my  invitation.  I  was  a 
physician  from  a  foreign  land  and,  as  I  must 


THE  INN  AT  KAMA-SUWA       195 

soon  return  to  my  own  country,  her  secret  with 
me  would  be  as  good  as  buried.  I  explained 
that  I  could  do  nothing  for  her  without  the  full 
confidence  of  her  father  and  mother.  She  took 
this  natural  suggestion  as  if  it  were  meant  to 
be  humorous.  When  she  had  stopped  laughing 
she  told  me  that  the  Japanese  are  perfect  dears 
and  horribly  cute.  Then  she  asked  me  if  I  didn't 
love — what  was  it  she  asked  me  that  I  loved? 
I  forget.  You  see  we  Japanese  have  few  words 
to  express  the  affections  and  use  those  sparingly. 
And  now,"  he  leaned  eagerly  forward,  "  I  want 
to  ask  you  whether  that  young  lady  was  charm- 
ing?" 

I  tried  to  evade  by  asking  him  what  was  his 
idea  of  charming. 

'  That's  just  what  I  don't  know.  I  was  told 
that  she  was  beautiful  and  charming.  I  could 
see  that  she  was  beautiful.  Then  I  asked  people 
what  charming  meant.  They  all  told  me  some- 
thing different." 

*  You  can't  define  charming,"  I  hazarded. 
"  It's  something  different  from  a  mere  attribute. 
Foreigners  always  say  that  Japanese  women  are 
charming." 

'  Then  she  wasn't  charming,"  he  decided  ju- 
dicially. 


196  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

Several  times  I  have  been  so  rash  as  to  try 
to  explain  to  men  of  other  nations  how  much 
an  ordinary  American  conversation  should  be  dis- 
counted. I  fear  that  they  did  not  accept  my 
formula  but  held  to  the  extremes,  either  con- 
tinuing to  take  us  literally  or  not  believing  us 
at  all. 

After  Hori  had  discovered  the  untoward  action 
of  the  first  inn  in  adding  rocking-chairs  and 
bureaus  to  its  equipment,  he  hurried  down  the 
street  and  warned  the  shopkeepers  whom  he  could 
find  to  stop  any  two  wandering  seiyo-jins  and 
direct  their  attention  to  the  new  inn.  They  must 
have  been  impressed  that  the  affair  was  one  of 
moment. 

We  heard  O-Owre-san,  the  feared  critic  of 
varnished,  golden-oak-pine  bureaus,  coming  up 
the  stairs.  A  striped,  blue  kimono  made  in 
Japanese  standard  length  somehow  does  not  sug- 
gest dignity  when  worn  by  a  more  than  six-foot 
foreigner  with  a  beard,  but  O-Owre-san  came  so 
solemnly  across  the  mats  in  his  bare  feet  that  his 
ominous  repression  created  its  own  aura  of  dig- 
nity. Something  had  happened,  but  he  was  not 
inviting  questions. 

Hori  started  in  turn  for  his  bath.  I  remained 
on  my  cushions.  I  sat  and  sipped  my  tea. 


THE  INN  AT  KAMA-SUWA       197 

O-Owre-san  sat  and  sipped  his  tea.  Hori  with 
his  secret  of  the  rocking-chair  inn  had  not  been 
impregnable  to  questions.  O-Owre-san  was  too 
dangerously  calm.  I  waited. 

He  began  by  alluding  to  the  excellence  of  the 
rooms  we  had.  They  were  excellent,  the  best 
in  the  inn,  being  a  part  of  an  extra  cupola  story 
and  giving  a  splendid  view  across  the  lake.  Then 
he  restated  the  known  fact  that  the  baths  were 
served  by  natural  hot  springs.  '  The  water 
comes  pouring  in  through  bamboo  pipes,"  he  said. 

"  Well,"  I  spoke  for  the  first  time,  "  and  then 
what  happened?  " 

The  honourable  seiyo-jin  drank  another  cup 
of  tea. 

"  I  got  into  the  wrong  bath,"  he  said. 

It  was  news  that  there  could  be  any  such  thing 
as  a  wrong  bath  in  a  Japanese  inn. 

"  You  see,"  he  continued,  "  the  baths  for  the 
guests  of  the  inn  are  just  under  us,  but  I  didn't 
notice  them  when  I  walked  by.  When  I  got  to 
the  other  end  of  the  hall  I  found  a  large  bath 
room.  Those  are  the  public  baths,  but  I  didn't 
know  that  then.  There  were  several  big  tubs 
with  the  water  tumbling  in  all  the  time  from  the 
pipes.  There  was  nobody  else  there  nor  a  sign 
of  anybody.  I  made  myself  at  home  and  was 


198  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

floating  in  one  of  the  tubs  when  suddenly  I  heard 
a  monstrous  chattering  out  in  the  hall  and  then 
right  into  the  room  walked  twenty  girls.  Maybe 
there  were  twice  that  many.  I  don't  know. 
Well,  I've  called  upon  my  practical  philosophy 
to  recognize  the  extenuating  virtues  of — ah — the 
natural  simplicity  of  the  traditional  exposure  of 
the  Japanese  bath — so  to  speak — its  insecurity— 
as  it  were — but — but — h'm — yes — but  this  was  too 
much." 

I  shouted. 

He  glared. 

"  I  was  just  thinking "  I  tried  to  say. 

"  I  can  see  you  are  just  thinking,"  he  inter- 
rupted, "  and  I  know  what  you  are  thinking. 
You  are  thinking  what  a  great  story  this  will  be 
to  tell  when  we  get  home.  Believe  me,  if  you 
ever  do " 

"  How  could  you  ever  imagine  such  treachery?  " 
I  wedged  in. 

"Well,  and  then  what  was  I  to  do?"  he  de- 
manded. "  I  couldn't  jump  out  and  run  and 
I  couldn't  stay  in  that  boiling  water  until  I  was 
cooked.  I  relied  upon  some  instinct  of  feminine 
chivalry  to  give  me  a  chance,  but 

I  tried  to  be  sympathetically  consoling.  "  A 
very,  very  trying  situation." 


THE  INN  AT  KAMA-SUWA       199 

"  Huh !  They  were  all  stepping  in  and  they 
just  naturally  crowded  me  out.  Of  course  they 
paid  absolutely  no  attention " 

Hori's  step  was  on  the  stair.  He  came  in  and 
sat  down  and  poured  a  cup  of  tea.  Then  he 
stretched  out  on  his  back  and  gazed  innocently 
at  the  ceiling.  "  O-Doctor-san,"  he  said,  "  you've 
settled  a  disputed  point  in  Kama-Suwa  and  every- 
body's much  obliged." 

"What's  that?" 

!c  Well,  there's  been  an  argument  for  a  long 
time  whether  seiyo-jins  are  white  all  over " 


THE  GUEST  OF  THE  OTHER  TOWER  ROOM 

OUR  tower  wing  of  the  inn  at  Kama-Suwa 
had  required  no  architectural  ingenuity  in  its 
design,  but  I  do  not  remember  ever  having  seen 
a  Japanese  building  planned  in  the  same  way. 
The  walls  were  open  on  the  four  sides  and  there 
was  no  takemono  corner.  The  only  approach 
was  by  a  flight  of  stairs  which  belonged  to  it 
exclusively.  We  thus  had  an  isolation  most  un- 
usual. It  mattered  not  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  space  given  us,  our  few  possessions  were 
always  scattered  over  all  the  space  available. 

We  heard  steps  on  the  stair  and  our  hostess 
and  a  maid  came  up  to  us  and  bowed  many 
times  and  brought  many  apologies.  Half  our 
space  was  to  be  taken  away.  This  was  only 
following  the  very  equitable  custom  that  a  guest 
may  have  all  of  the  extension  of  his  floor  until 
some  other  traveller  must  be  accommodated,  and 
then,  presto!  there  are  two  rooms  where  one  was 
before. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  double  row  of  screens  had 

200 


GUEST  OF  THE  TOWER  ROOM     201 

been  pushed  along  the  grooved  slides  in  the  floor 
from  the  head  of  the  stairs,  creating  two  com- 
plete rooms  with  a  hallway  between.  The  new 
guest,  a  woman,  stood  waiting  to  take  possession. 
From  the  quality  of  her  kimono,  the  refinement 
of  her  face,  and  the  arrangement  of  her  hair,  we 
could  judge  that  she  was  of  superior  rank.  We 
questioned  with  some  wonder  why  she  was  alone, 
but  as  it  was  extremely  unlikely  that  that  question 
or  any  other  about  her  would  be  answered,  the 
passing  query  was  dismissed.  However,  it  came 
about  that  we  were  to  know  one  poignant  chapter 
in  that  woman's  life. 

We  went  exploring  to  find  the  kitchen,  there 
to  deliver  our  gooseberries  and  our  recipe.  The 
maids  and  cooks  stood  and  listened.  We  pro- 
ceeded with  our  explanation  until  we  reached  the 
point  where  one  more  suppressed  giggle  on  the 
part  of  the  ne-sans  might  have  burst  forth  into 
full  hysterics.  We  released  them  in  time  by 
laughing  ourselves  and  then  left  them  to  recover 
as  best  they  could  and  to  experiment  with  the 
stewing.  Their  irresponsible  laughing  for  laugh- 
ter's sake  had  infected  us  with  the  mood.  We 
went  filing  back  to  our  room.  The  guest  of  the 
second  tower  room  was  standing  on  the  balcony 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  She  had  changed  from 


202  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

her  street  kimono.  Her  eyes  were  shaded  by 
her  hand  and  she  was  looking  searchingly  down 
the  road.  As  we  walked  by  she  stepped  a  little 
farther  out  on  the  narrow  balcony  but  did  not 
take  her  eyes  from  her  quest. 

The  maid  brought  our  dinner.  It  had  been 
fourteen  hours  since  breakfast  and  we  had  been 
tramping  mountain  paths,  but  without  the  sauce 
of  appetite  that  dinner  could  have  justified  its 
existence.  There  were  fish  fresh  from  the  moun- 
tain waters  of  the  lake,  and  there  were  grilled 
eels,  and  there  were  strange  vegetables  with 
strange  sauces.  When  the  rice  came  we  poured 
our  stewed  gooseberry  juice  over  the  bowl.  The 
maid  had  left  the  screen  pushed  back  when  she 
carried  off  the  tables  downstairs.  At  that  mo- 
ment of  our  contentment  I  looked  up  to  see  the 
lonely  watcher  step  back  from  the  balcony.  Her 
expression  had  changed  to  joyful  expectancy  and 
radiant  relief  and  trust.  She  went  to  her  room, 
then  returned  to  the  balcony,  then  ran  again  to 
her  room.  In  a  moment  or  two  the  round,  sleepy 
maid  stumbled  up  the  stairs  and  whispered  a 
message.  The  message  again  brought  the  woman 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  in  a  moment  we 
could  hear  a  man's  step  coming. 

The  greeting  of  affection  in  Japan  is  not  a 


GUEST  OF  THE  TOWER  ROOM     203 

meeting  of  the  lips.  Whatever  the  proper  cher- 
ishing expression  may  be,  it  cannot  be  such  a 
casual  acknowledgment  as  was  that  man's  indif- 
ferent greeting  in  the  inn  at  Kama-Suwa.  A 
glance  showed  that  he  belonged  to  that  new  type 
which  modern  Japan  has  produced,  the  mobile, 
keen,  aggressive,  calculating,  successful  man  of 
business  and  affairs.  He  was  about  thirty-five. 
Men  of  this  new  stamp  are  seldom  met  with  in 
the  provinces  where  the  old  order  has  changed 
so  little  but  in  Tokyo  and  the  port  cities  their 
ideas  are  the  predominant  influence.  Their  ag- 
gression and  ability  have  taken  over  the  business 
and  industries  which  the  foreigner  established. 
When  one  thinks  of  Old  Japan  one  can  believe 
that  the  thought  action  of  this  type  of  man  by 
the  very  virtue  of  his  being  understood  by  us 
is  enigma  to  those  who  still  seek  their  inspiration 
in  the  ideals  of  the  order  that  was. 

'  Well,  I  am  here,"  he  said.  '  You  sent  for 
me  and  I  came." 

The  woman  stood,  making  no  answer. 

"What's  it  all  about?"  he  went  on.  "Your 
message  was  very  mysterious.  It  cannot  be  that 
you  have  been  so  foolish — so  unthinking — as  abso- 
lutely to  make  a  break  with  your  husband? " 

"  You   are   tired    from   your   trip,"    she    said. 


204  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

"  Come!     Sit  down!     Your  dinner  is  waiting  to 
be  brought." 

He  sat  down  and  the  woman  clapped  her  hands 
for  the  maid.  When  the  stumbling,  awkward 
girl  came  the  man  changed  the  order  and  told 
the  ne-san  to  bring  sake  first  of  all.  He  sat  in 
silence  until  the  hot  rice  wine  came.  He  drank 
several  of  the  small  cups.  Then  the  maid  brought 
the  lacquer  tables  with  the  dinner  dishes.  The 
man  lifted  up  one  or  two  covers  and  then  sud- 
denly jumped  to  his  feet  and  declared  that  he 
was  going  to  take  a  bath. 

The  maid  led  the  way  to  the  large  room  for 
baths  which  was  just  under  our  rooms.  The 
woman  sat  before  her  untasted  dinner.  Soon 
there  was  a  sound  of  laughing  and  chattering 
from  below.  There  was  the  man's  voice  and  the 
maid's  laugh.  Finally  the  woman  arose,  walked 
out  into  the  hall,  tentatively  put  a  foot  on  the 
stair,  then  slowly  walked  down.  She  waited  out- 
side the  sliding  paper  door.  The  maid  had  com- 
mitted no  breach  against  custom  in  lingering  idly 
after  carrying  in  towels  and  brushes.  It  was 
for  no  personal  bitterness  against  the  stupid  maid 
that  tears  had  gathered  in  the  woman's  eyes. 
There  was  nothing  vulgar  in  the  words  of  the 
bantering  chatter  she  heard.  It  was  the  fact 


GUEST  OF  THE  TOWER  ROOM     205 

that  the  man  was  accepting  the  moment  so  care- 
lessly, so  unfeelingly  for  her  anguish,  knowing 
as  he  must  unquestionably  that  every  word  of 
his  indifferent  greeting  to  her  had  carried  a  tor- 
turing thrust  of  pain. 

The  dinner  was  brought  up  again,  warmed 
over.  We  heard  the  order  for  another  bottle 
of  sake.  We  could  not  escape  hearing  through 
the  paper  wall.  We  had  intended  taking  a  walk 
but  a  misty  rain  had  come  down.  The  mos- 
quitoes arose  from  the  beaches  of  the  lake.  We 
sent  for  the  maid  and  asked  for  the  beds  and 
mosquito  netting.  In  the  meantime  Hori  and 
I  were  tempted  into  taking  another  luxurious 
sinking  into  the  hot  baths.  O-Owre-san  had 
turned  out  the  light  before  we  came  back.  In 
the  darkness  we  crawled  carefully  under  the  omni- 
bus netting  and  I  went  to  sleep  immediately.  I 
awoke  in  about  an  hour.  The  misty  rain  had 
been  blown  away  and  the  moon  was  shining  so 
clearly  that  when  I  turned  over  I  could  see  that 
Hori's  eyes  were  wide  open.  I  heard  the  maid, 
stumbling  as  always,  come  up  the  stairs  with 
another  bottle  of  sake.  I  asked  Hori  whether 
he  had  been  asleep.  He  said  that  he  had  not, 
that  after  the  woman  had  begun  talking  she  had 
not  stopped.  I  could  hear  her  low,  ceaseless 


206  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

tones.  The  man  was  smoking  one  pipe  after 
another.  He  would  knock  out  the  ash  against 
the  brazier — four  staccato  raps — then  there  would 
be  a  pause  for  the  three  or  four  puffs  from  the 
refilled  pipe,  and  then  the  staccato  raps  again. 

"  If  we  are  ever  going  to  get  to  sleep,"  said 
Hori,  "  we'll  have  to  complain  to  the  mistress. 
Guests  haven't  any  right  to  keep  other  guests 
awake." 

"  Why  wouldn't  it  be  better  to  make  some 
such  suggestion  to  them  without  calling  in  the 
mistress  ?  "  I  asked. 

Hori  shook  his  head.  That  was  not  the  way. 
However,  we  delayed  sending  for  the  inn  mistress. 
Hori  translated  some  of  the  conversation  that  he 
had  heard  before  I  woke  up.  The  woman  had 
that  morning  left  her  home  and  her  husband. 
She  had  sent  a  message  to  the  man  now  in  the 
room  with  her,  but  her  news  had  evidently  been 
one  of  his  least  desired  wishes.  Before  he  sank 
into  the  silence  of  tobacco  and  sake  he  had  said 
his  disapproval. 

"  I  thought  you  had  more  sense  than  to  do 
anything  so  absurd,  so  almost  final.  Don't  you 
see  that  it  will  be  almost  impossible  for  you  to 
go  back  now?  How  will  you  make  any  explana- 
tion that  he  can  accept? " 


GUEST  OF  THE  TOWER  ROOM     207 

"  But,"  she  interrupted,  "  I  came  to  you  as 
you  have  so  often  said  that  you  wished  I  could. 
That  was  the  only  way  I  could  be  even  a  little 
bit  fair  to  him — to  leave  his  house." 

"  Everything  was  all  right  as  it  was." 

"No!    No!    I  could  not  live  that  way." 

"  I  can't  see  why.  I  don't  see  it.  Now  you've 
pretty  nearly  ruined  both  of  us.  However,  we've 
got  to  think  of  some  way  for  you  to  go  back." 

"  But  I  can't.  I've  lost  the  possibility  of  that. 
If  I  had  not  thought  you  wished  me,  I  might  not 
have  come  to  you,  but  I  could  not  stay  there." 

'  That's  foolishness.  Anyhow,  you  can  go  to 
your  own  family,  and  when  he  finds  that  is  where 
you  are,  he'll  want  you  to  come  back." 

Her  mind  was  dully  grasping  that  here,  with 
this  man,  she  had  no  refuge,  but  her  heart  would 
not  believe. 

"  I  wished  to  make  it  complete,"  she  repeated. 
"  I  wanted  to  give  up  everything  for  you." 

What  folly,  what  sheer  childish  folly,  he  told 
her,  that  she  had  listened  seriously  to  his  idle, 
passing  phrases.  Why,  always,  she  must  have 
known  that  he  was  merely  answering  her  vanity. 
Any  woman  should  have  known  and  accepted  that. 

The  ceaseless  words  and  the  staccato  rapping 
of  the  pipe  continued.  We  dismissed  from  our 


208  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

minds  any  intention  of  sending  for  the  mistress, 
but  not  from  prying  curiosity.  Our  sleeping,  or 
our  not  sleeping,  was  not  of  importance.  In 
merciful  pity  (at  least  as  we  thought)  for  the 
woman,  we  knew  that  that  contest  must  be  settled 
as  it  was  being  settled.  "  But,"  Hori  whispered, 
"  it  would  be  a  mighty  big  satisfaction  to  mix 
in  a  little  physical  argument." 

"  No  one  at  this  inn  knows  who  I  am,"  the 
man  continued.  "  No  one  has  any  idea  that  you 
have  more  than  the  slightest  acquaintanceship 
with  me.  No  one  would  ever  be  convinced  that 
you  ran  away  to  meet  me." 

She  ceased  the  argument  that  she  had  come 
to  him  in  willing  sacrifice  of  all  else — the  supreme 
gift  of  her  love  for  him.  She  began  to  plead. 
He  did  not  answer.  His  pipe  struck  against  the 
brazier  and  now  and  again  the  maid  brought 
sake.  Once  she  began  to  weep  hysterically  but 
this  surrender  to  her  agony  was  only  for  a  short 
moment. 

It  was  now  almost  morning.  The  rapping  of 
the  pipe  stopped.  The  man  got  to  his  feet  some- 
what noisily.  Passionately  and  despairingly  the 
woman  begged  him  not  to  leave  her.  Then  as 
suddenly  she  ceased  all  words  and  said  nothing 
as  he  made  his  preparations  for  going,  nor  did 


GUEST  OF  THE  TOWER  ROOM     209 

she  call  after  him  when  he  left  her.  Her  unbeat- 
ing  breast  imprisoned  her  breath  through  one 
last  moment  of  hope.  The  spark  of  faith  died 
but  the  torture  of  life  remained,  and  her  breath 
was  released  in  a  long,  low  moan.  Until  morn- 
ing broke  she  sobbed,  lying  there  on  the  floor. 

She  had  not  pushed  back  the  wall  panel  which 
the  man  had  left  open.  When  we  went  below  to 
our  baths  she  drew  in  her  outstretched  arm  which 
still  reached  gropingly  into  the  narrow  passage- 
way. She  dressed  before  we  returned.  We  met 
her  on  the  stairs.  She  started  to  cover  her  face 
with  her  kimono  sleeve,  and  then,  listlessly, 
dropped  her  arm. 

"Where  will  she  go?"  I  asked  Hori. 

Hori  did  not  know.  In  the  old  regime,  he 
explained,  when  a  woman  of  the  aristocracy  left 
her  husband  she  went  to  her  family,  but  it  had 
been  only  under  extreme  duress  that  a  woman 
would  leave  her  husband.  There  is  much  talk 
to-day  in  Japan  that  the  social  institutions  are 
crumbling.  One  is  told  that  the  "  new  woman  " 
movement  is  a  result  of  the  crumbling  of  the 
old  order ;  and  again  one  is  told  that  the  crumbling 
has  come  from  the  new  woman  movement.  These 
latter  critics  say  that  so  many  women  are  leaving 
their  homes  that  if  any  proper  discipline  is  to 


210  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

be  retained  and  maintained,  the  tradition  that 
a  woman's  own  family  may  receive  her  into  their 
house  must  be  uncompromisingly  discouraged  as 
a  declaration  of  warning  to  others. 

Hori,  himself,  now  that  the  tragedy  had  ceased 
to  be  so  present,  was  somewhat  inclined  to  look 
upon  the  history  of  the  night  in  its  relation  to 
collective  society  rather  than  as  the  drama  of  two 
individuals.  A  Japanese  instinctively  regards  a 
family  as  a  family,  and  not  as  a  collection  of 
units.  Loyalty  is  the  basic  idea  of  that  philos- 
ophy and  not  the  importance  of  the  individual 
soul. 

'  There  is  one  thing  quite  sure,"  he  added, 
"  she  was  obviously  from  a  sheltered  home  and 
Japanese  ladies  know  precious  little  about  the 
realities  of  the  outside  world.  I  don't  believe 
you  could  understand.  Why,  they  don't  even  go 
shopping  like  American  women.  The  shop- 
keepers bring  everything  to  them.  If  she  hasn't 
some  place  to  go — well,  you  can  guess  what  will 
happen  to  her.  She  could  never  earn  her  own 
living  any  more  than  a  baby." 

"  It  may  end  with  suicide,"  I  suggested. 

Hori  doubted  that.  Suicide  is  an  escape  often 
appealed  to  in  Japan,  but  he  thought  that  if  her 
temperament  had  been  impulsively  capable  of 


GUEST  OF  THE  TOWER  ROOM     211 

seeking  such  release,  she  would  have  made  the 
attempt  immediately. 

"  But,"  I  objected,  "  isn't  your  other  alterna- 
tive impossible?  Isn't  there  a  rigid  law  that  no 
woman  of  the  samurai  class  can  enter  the  yoshi- 
wara? 3i 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  he,  "  but  an  agent  can  easily 
arrange  to  have  her  adopted  into  some  family 
of  a  lower  order  and  then  she  loses  her  rank  and 
its  protection." 

O-Owre-san  came  up  from  his  bath  and  asked 
us  what  we  were  talking  about.  He  had  slept 
through  the  night. 


XI 

ANTIQUES,  TEMPLES,  AND  TEACHING  CHARM 

FOE,  many  days  we  had  been  passing  through 
villages  which  yielded  no  good  hunting  among 
the  antique  and  second-hand  shops.  It  should 
be  known  that  the  lure  of  the  curio  carries  poison. 
Two  friends  who  have  lived  blithely  in  affection, 
confident  that  no  brutal  nor  subtle  assault  could 
ever  avail  against  the  harmony  of  their  intimate 
understanding,  perchance  step  through  the  door- 
way of  a  shop.  Presto!  A  candlestick,  a  vase, 
a  box,  a  tumbledown  chair,  whatever  it  may  be — 
the  desire  for  the  thing  magically  energizes  per- 
ception. We  suddenly  and  clearly  perceive  that 
the  one-time  friend  at  our  side  is  hung  with  many 
false  tinkling  cymbals.  We  never  break  the  rules 
of  the  game;  it  is  the  friend  who  always  errs. 
Thus  I  was  always  learning  O-Owre-san's  abysmal 
depths,  while  he  was  encountering  my  superlative 
virtues  of  unselfishness.  However,  as  his  chief 
fiendishness  was  for  cloisonne  and  my  interest 
was  in  carved  iron  and  bronzes  and  old  Kyoto 

212 


ANTIQUES  AND  TEMPLES       213 

ware,  we  were  spared  from  too  many  overdoses 
of  poison. 

The  little  shops  of  Kama-Suwa  really  had 
curios.  There  were  strange,  imaginative  odds 
and  ends  which  had  been  made  to  please  the 
whims  of  the  eccentrics  of  a  vanished  and  now 
almost  un-understandable  age.  Of  such  whimsi- 
cality were  the  costumes  and  the  heap  of  personal 
adornments  which  we  discovered  that  had  once 
been  fashioned  for  a  famous  wrestler  of  Kama- 
Suwa.  Even  his  sandals  were  there.  He  must 
have  been  a  giant,  truly,  if  his  feet  filled  those 
geta.  Everything  for  the  hero  had  been  made 
in  faithful  exaggeration  to  many  times  the  size 
of  the  conventional.  His  leather  tobacco  pouch 
was  as  big  as  our  rucksacks.  Every  detail  of 
the  decorations  of  the  pouch,  such  as  the  netsuke, 
was  increased  to  correct  proportion.  In  the 
stockings  for  his  feet  the  threads  were  as  thick 
as  whipcord.  The  grain  of  the  shark  skin  bind- 
ing the  handle  of  his  sword  had  come  from  some 
fish  of  the  Brobdingnag  world.  When  fully 
equipped,  that  famous  man — they  spoke  of  him 
reverently — must  have  given  the  effect  that  he 
had  been  blown  into  expansion  by  some  mar- 
vellous pump. 

After  we  had  shaken  a  dozen  or  so  curio  shops 


214  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

through  our  sieve  we  wandered  off  into  the  rain 
seeking  the  village  temple  in  the  hills.  By  festi- 
vals and  gorgeous  pageants  the  people  around 
the  shore  of  Suwa  still  celebrate  their  faith  and 
belief  that  its  towns  were  built  by  the  gods  in 
the  beginning  of  time.  The  upkeep  of  the 
temples,  I  suppose,  must  now  come  from  the 
worshippers  or  the  state  as  there  are  no  longer 
lavish  feudal  patrons  with  immense  incomes  of 
rice.  Nevertheless  these  temples  do  not  seem  to 
suffer  poverty. 

We  easily  found  the  path.  A  spring  bursts 
from  the  rock  of  the  precipitous  hill  back  of  the 
temple  garden  and  its  waters  keep  green  the 
shrubs  and  grasses  and  the  bamboo,  and  cherish 
the  flowers.  Perhaps  the  garden  has  achieved 
its  perfection  by  minute  alterations  through  hun- 
dreds of  years,  but  its  appeal  bespeaks  the  original 
conception  of  its  first  master  artist,  who,  by 
creating  a  subtle  absence  of  formal  arrangement, 
offered  the  supreme  compliment  to  the  beholder 
to  carry  on  through  his  own  creative  imagination 
that  approach  to  the  ideal  perfection  which  can 
never  be  reached. 

After  a  time  the  rain,  which  had  begun  falling 
in  torrents,  drove  us  back  from  the  dream  garden 
to  the  shelter  of  the  overhanging  temple  roof. 


ANTIQUES  AND  TEMPLES        215 

A  sliding  door  opened  behind  us  and  we  turned 
around  to  see  an  old  woman  kneeling  on  the  mat- 
ting. She  bowed  low  and  then  arose  to  disappear 
and  to  return  again  with  tea  and  rice  cakes  and 
fruit.  She  placed  the  dishes  on  a  low,  black 
lacquer  table.  We  untied  our  muddy  shoes  and 
moved  in  onto  the  mats.  The  rain  fell  in  dull, 
droning  monotony  on  the  tiles  of  the  roof  far 
above  our  heads;  back  in  the  deep  shadows  our 
eyes  could  see  the  gleaming  of  the  reddish  gold 
edges  of  the  lacquered  idols.  Every  suggestion 
was  hypnotic  of  sleep  and  I  had  been  awake 
almost  all  the  night  before.  I  grew  so  sleepy 
that  even  the  touch  of  the  cup  in  my  hand  had 
the  feeling  of  unreal  reality.  Between  the  rais- 
ing of  the  cup  to  my  lips  and  the  putting  of  it 
down  I  actually  plunged  for  an  instant  into  sleep, 
then  came  to  consciousness  with  a  start.  I  looked 
at  Hori.  His  eyes  were  blinking  waveringly  and 
with  much  uncertainty.  Were  there  ever  such 
guests  of  a  temple?  I  vaguely  remember  that 
our  hostess  put  a  cushion  under  my  head,  and 
then  came  a  rhythmic  coolness  from  her  fan  over 
my  face.  I  would  have  slept  on  the  rack. 

We  slept  until  we  awoke  to  find  the  sun  shin- 
ing. Our  hostess,  with  immobile,  gentle  face, 
was  still  fanning  us.  We  were  abjectly,  guiltily 


216  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

remorseful.  We  sat  up  and  she  brought  fresh 
tea.  We  appealed  in  a  roundabout  way  for 
forgiveness  by  praising  the  teacups  and  the  tea- 
pot. They  were  very  fine.  She  explained  that 
they  had  been  the  gift  of  some  daimyo,  she 
thought.  Whoever  he  was,  he  had  made  many 
rich  gifts  to  the  temple.  She  pushed  back  panels 
and  brought  out  bowls  and  vases,  and  told  us 
romantic  legends.  The  legends  were  colourful 
rather  than  of  plot.  I  knew  then  that  I  could 
never  remember  more  than  their  impression.  The 
old  woman's  own  personality  had  drifted  into 
limbo  and  she  had  absorbed  in  its  place  a  reflec- 
tion of  those  dark,  mysterious  temple  rooms. 
She  held  out  robes  and  porcelains  before  us  and 
then  carried  them  away  quickly.  She  led  us 
through  the  shadows,  stopping  to  light  incense 
at  the  feet  of  the  Buddhas  with  the  reverence 
that  such  acts  were  her  life  and  not  her  task. 

We  said  good-bye  and  walked  away,  following 
along  the  crest  of  the  hill.  The  temple  roof  dis- 
appeared behind  the  treetops  and  we  were  again 
in  the  modern  world,  for  at  that  instant  across 
the  valley  we  saw  a  huge,  nondescript,  barracks- 
like  building.  It  had  been  erected  in  the  worship 
of  efficiency,  and  was  more  completely  mere  walls 
of  windows  with  a  roof  above  than  even  an  Amer- 


ANTIQUES  AND  TEMPLES       217 

ican  factory.  As  we  stood  watching,  a  man  paced 
out  of  the  gate  and  behind  him  stepped  a  girl, 
and  then  another  girl,  and  another,  until  it  was 
a  long  procession.  The  line  pursued  a  twisting 
way,  sometimes  in  measured  steps,  sometimes  in 
undulating  running.  At  last  the  line  formed  a 
serpentine  coil  in  an  open  space. 

The  building  was  the  high  school  for  girls  and 
the  man  leading  the  line  was  the  physical  in- 
structor. The  pupils  wore  the  distinguishing  uni- 
versal reddish-purple  skirt  of  the  high  schools 
which  are  bound  over  the  kimonos.  These  skirts 
look  heavy  and  uncomfortable.  They  must  have 
been  designed  by  some  minister  of  education  in 
those  days  of  translation  when  the  demand  for 
modern  ideas  included  always  that  they  must  be 
served  raw.  It  was  believed  with  loyalty  and 
devotion  that  the  principle  at  the  base  of  the 
secret  of  foreign  success  was  the  axiom  that 
nothing  useful  can  be  ornamental. 

The  physical  instructor  was  inhumanly  military 
and  dignified — and  so  overwhelmingly  efficient  in 
his  instruction  that  it  was  annoying  to  see  such 
perfection.  Secretly  perhaps,  but  always,  the 
male  animal  instinctively  protests  and  resists  that 
women  should  unite  into  solidarity  to  do  things. 
To  his  roots  he  begs  that  if  they  do  so  do,  they 


218  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

shall  not  achieve  success  in  the  essay.  Man  has 
always  run  in  packs,  but  woman  has  been  the 
eternal  individual.  Our  wrath  was  against  the 
traitor  in  sleeveless  gymnasium  shirt  and  tight 
foreign  trousers  who  was  teaching  so  systematic- 
ally and  effectively  to  that  line  of  girls  the  secret 
of  team  work.  By  the  sorrow  of  his  eyes  it  could 
be  seen  he  acknowledged  to  himself  his  infamy 
to  his  sex,  but  his  loyalty  to  his  Emperor  was 
that  he  must  conduct  that  exercise  drill  and  con- 
duct it  professionally. 

Hori  suggested  that  we  visit  the  school,  insist- 
ing that  such  a  visit  would  be  considered  a  great 
compliment.  It  seemed  to  us  more  like  an  im- 
pertinence of  vagrants,  but  Hori  continued  firm 
that  it  was  our  duty  as  itinerant  foreigners  to 
interrupt  the  machinery.  He  took  a  couple  of 
our  visiting  cards,  mere  innocent  slips  of  paste- 
board, and  proceeded  with  his  fountain  pen  to 
make  them  pretentiously  formidable.  He  raked 
up  all  the  detritus  of  our  past  lives.  We  did 
have  sufficiency  of  conventional  shame  to  cough 
apologetically  when  Hori  read  aloud  the  out- 
rageous qualifications  of  our  scholarship  and  de- 
grees which  he  had  added  after  our  names.  We 
learned  that  it  is  a  mistake  to  believe  that  there 
can  be  no  utilitarian  value  in  a  college  degree: 


ANTIQUES  AND  TEMPLES        219 

letters  after  one's  name  are  seeds  ready  to  burst 
into  useful  bloom  under  an  exotic  sun,  and  the 
flowering  may  be  a  pass  into  a  provincial  high 
school  for  Japanese  maidens. 

A  servant  took  those  remarkable  cards  from 
Hori's  hand  and  walked  off  down  the  long  corri- 
dor. The  result  was  that  a  smiling  diplomat 
came  to  us  empowered  to  minister  to  our  enter- 
tainment and  instruction.  We  were  honoured  as 
the  first  courtesy  by  not  being  allowed  to  remove 
our  heavy  walking  shoes.  Every  step  that  I 
took  on  those  shining,  spotless  floors  made  me 
feel  as  if  I  were  perpetrating  a  clownish  inde- 
cency. The  remorse  that  follows  one's  own  wil- 
fulness  can  never  be  so  keen  as  the  agony  when 
sheer  fate  ordains  unavoidable  vulgarity.  Still, 
in  leaving  heel  marks  in  the  polished  wood,  there 
was  the  saving  humour  of  the  idea  that  our  hosts 
thought  they  were  honouring  us  by  encouraging 
our  foreign  barbarity. 

There  were  unending  rooms  of  maids  in  purple 
skirts.  They  were  studying  every  sort  of  sub- 
ject from  the  abstract  to  the  practical,  and  from 
the  aesthetic  to  the  ethical.  There  were  girls  with 
the  refinement  of  profile  which  one  seeks  and 
finds  in  the  ideal  drawings  by  the  great  Japanese 
artists;  and  there  were  those  other  faces,  the 


220  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

round,  good-natured  O-Martha-sans.  We  looked 
over  their  shoulders  at  their  paintings  of  flowers, 
at  their  embroidery,  at  their  arithmetic  sums,  their 
maps,  and  their  English  composition.  The  Jap- 
anese say,  "  Perhaps  rich  nations  can  afford  to 
economize  in  education  and  to  exploit  ignorance, 
but  we,  being  very  poor,  must  be  practical.  We 
cannot  take  such  risk  of  ignorance." 

A  modicum  of  truth  lies  in  the  statement  that 
the  Japanese  have  taken  up  education  as  a  new 
religion.  (And  some  of  the  bumptious  youthful 
devotees  in  Tokyo  impress  one  that  it  was  a 
mistaken  bargain  to  have  allowed  them  to  ex- 
change pocket  shrines  for  text-books.)  Theories 
of  education  have  many  splits  everywhere  in  the 
world  and  the  Japanese  fervour  has  not  escaped 
having  to  face  the  necessity  of  certain  decisions. 
One  difference  of  opinion,  which  might  almost 
be  called  theological,  rests  in  the  question  whether 
the  youth  should  be  educated  to  think  according 
to  conviction  or  to  think  according  to  conformity; 
to  think  or  to  be  taught  what  to  think.  A  Jap- 
anese told  us  that  the  government  must  risk  its 
last  penny  to-day  to  guarantee  the  future,  that 
the  people  are  being  educated  to  understand 
national  policies  in  the  faith  that  understanding 
will  breed  willing  cooperation  and  willing  self- 


ANTIQUES  AND  TEMPLES       221 

sacrifice.  When  I  asked  him  which  he  meant, 
whether  students  were  being  taught  to  under- 
stand the  policies  of  the  state  or  whether  they 
were  being  taught  to  believe  in  them,  I  rather 
thought  that  he  considered  my  question  argu- 
mentative and  perhaps  unfriendly.  However, 
without  his  having  answered  the  question,  it  is 
obvious  that  Japan  is  trusting  its  fate  to  the 
system  of  educating  toward  solidarity,  the  im- 
pulse to  think  alike. 

After  our  noisy  boots  had  been  in  and  out  of 
many  rooms  we  were  taken  to  meet  the  head  of 
the  school.  He  was  not  in  his  administration 
room,  but  he  entered  in  a  few  minutes.  After 
the  formal  introduction  he  clapped  his  hands  for 
tea.  His  appearance  and  his  dignity  were  of 
ancient  Japan.  His  thin  divided  moustache  fell 
in  long  pencil-like  strands  from  the  corners  of 
his  lip,  as  do  those  of  the  sages  in  the  ancient 
Chinese  paintings.  His  kimono  was  silk.  We 
smoked  and  drank  tea  and  talked  abstractedly 
about  education.  It  was  a  girls'  school  but  he 
talked  of  boys.  We  strayed  from  Montessori 
methods  to  industrial  training.  After  he  had 
used  some  such  phrases  as  "  a  sound  education," 
O-Owre-san  asked  how  many  years  of  a  boy's 
life  he  considered  should  be  given  over  to  his 


222  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

schooling.  His  eyes  had  been  of  passive  light. 
They  now  gleamed  like  those  of  a  warrior. 

"  Until  he  has  been  taught  loyalty  to  his  Em- 
peror! " 

It  perhaps  may  be  a  debatable  question  for 
the  other  nations  of  the  world,  that  question  of 
Socrates  whether  virtue  can  be  taught,  but  the 
headmaster  of  the  high  school  in  Kama-Suwa 
declared  that  in  Japan  a  teacher  is  not  a  teacher 
unless  he  can  teach  loyalty.  The  boys  must  be 
taught  loyalty;  the  daughters  of  the  Empire  must 
be  taught  grace.  (And  by  grace  I  think  he 
meant  also  charm.)  To  exemplify,  we  were  led 
to  the  "  flower-arranging  room."  The  Japanese 
arranging  of  flowers  is  a  ceremony  and  there  is 
commingled  in  it  both  the  suggestion  of  the  actual 
in  life  and  the  ideal  of  the  perfect.  The  room 
which  we  were  shown  was  an  attempt  to  achieve 
the  supreme  inheritance  of  Japanese  art  in  archi- 
tecture and  decoration — rhythm,  harmony,  and 
simplicity.  Something  of  the  spirit  of  didac- 
ticism must  ever  hang  over  a  room  so  built  but, 
in  the  room  that  we  were  shown,  charm  and 
beauty  had  surprisingly  survived  the  inevitable 
refrigeration  of  being  labelled  "  classic." 


XII 

TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU 

IN  the  same  town  of  Kama-Suwa  where  the 
barracks-like  high  school  for  girls  spreads  its 
wings  there  also  rises  the  tiled  roof  of  a  geisha 
house.  Under  its  protection  other  daughters  of 
the  Empire  are  also  being  rigorously  trained  to 
duties — the  life  of  amusing  and  entertaining. 
The  position  of  the  geisha  cannot  be  illuminated 
by  comparisons.  There  are  the  "  sing-song  girls  " 
of  Peking  and  the  nautch  dancers  of  India,  and 
there  were  in  the  days  of  the  fruition  of  Greek 
civilization  the  sisters  of  Aspasia;  the  life  of  the 
geisha  might  be  considered  to  be  somewhat 
parallel  to  their  lives  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  response 
to  the  demand  of  highly  civilized  man  for  the 
romance  of  idealized  anarchy;  the  inhibitions  of 
custom,  or  dogma,  having  precluded  the  expres- 
sion of  inborn  romantic  desire  in  his  conventional 
life.  Men  whose  minds  have  realized  some  meas- 
ure of  freedom  through  imagination  and  culture 
instinctively  seek  idealistic  companionship  with 
women.  When  realization  is  compressed  by  such 


224  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

custom  as  marriage  by  family  arrangement  this 
desire  finds  expression  in  some  direction  where 
there  is  at  least  the  illusion  of  freedom.  Human 
nature  is  like  the  human  body,  if  pressure  is 
applied  in  one  spot,  unless  there  is  some  equitable, 
compensating  bulge  elsewhere,  the  compression  is 
likely  to  be  vitally  destructive.  If  the  highest 
ideality  has  as  its  cornerstone  responsibility,  then 
when  marriage  is  an  institution  by  arrangement 
and  the  sense  of  responsibility  is  not  created 
through  the  freedom  of  choice,  feminine  com- 
panionship and  charm  will  inevitably  be  sought 
in  the  romance  of  some  more  voluntary  arrange- 
ment. Who  will  absolutely  deny  that  when  the 
endeavour  to  save  poetical  yearning  from  defeat 
is  such  companionship  as  the  almost  classical  cere- 
mony of  watching  the  white  fingers  of  a  geisha 
pour  tea  into  a  shell  of  porcelain,  a  sort  of  mutual 
sense  of  responsibility  to  save  the  fineness  of  life 
may  enter  into  the  relationship  as  a  redeeming 
grace  against  the  professionalism  of  the  geishas 
life? 

We  turned  from  the  street  into  the  gate  of 
the  principal  tea-house.  There  was  a  clapping 
of  hands  by  the  first  servant  who  heard  our  steps 
on  the  gravel  path  and  in  a  moment  the  mistress 
and  all  the  men-servants  and  maid-servants  were 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    225 

at  the  door  to  greet  us.  It  was  at  an  hour  in 
the  afternoon  when  the  tea-house  did  not  expect 
guests.  We  took  off  our  shoes  and  were  led  to 
the  floor  above.  There  were  four  or  five  rooms 
but  they  soon  became  one,  the  maids  removing 
the  sliding  screen  panels,  and  we  were  given  the 
luxury  of  unpartitioned  possession.  One  side, 
entirely  without  wall,  overhung  the  garden. 

The  maids  brought  cold  water  and  tea  and 
sherbets  and  iced  beer  and  fruits  and  cakes,  and 
there  were  dishes  on  the  table  of  which  we  did 
not  even  lift  the  covers.  Then  they  knelt  and 
awaited  our  orders  whether  they  should  send  for 
geishas.  They  explained  that  at  that  hour  there 
might  be  the  rude  annoyance  to  our  honourable 
patience  of  having  to  endure  an  unavoidable 
delay.  It  would  not  be  likely  that  the  geishas 
could  come  immediately.  We  told  them  that  our 
honourable  patience  would  suffer  the  delay. 

When  the  French  builders  and  decorators  tried 
to  attain  the  ultimate  for  the  housing  of  royalty 
in  the  age  of  the  Grand  Monarch,  their  success 
approached  close  to  the  realization  of  what  the 
imagination  of  the  period  asked.  Versailles  was 
built  with  the  idea  of  reaching  theoretical  per- 
fection through  the  completion  of  detail.  The 
imagination  of  the  beholder  was  supposed  to  find 


226  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

complete  satisfaction  in  what  he  saw  and  not  to 
feel  the  urge  of  the  possibility  of  still  higher 
flights.  If  the  beholder  was  not  content  with 
this  "  perfection,"  he  was  indeed  in  a  plight,  for 
there  was  no  next  step  except  to  begin  all  over 
again.  The  rhythm  of  the  art  of  the  Japanese 
tea-house  is  not  dependent  upon  regularity  nor 
balance.  Its  perfection  can  never  be  completed. 
The  last  word  cannot  be  spoken.  It  is  like  life. 

We  walked  over  the  soft  mats  examining  the 
work  of  the  craftsman  builder  who  had  made  his 
material  yield  its  beauty  through  the  grain  and 
line  of  each  plank,  board,  beam,  pillar,  and  panel. 
I  moved  a  cushion  to  the  balcony  and  sat  down 
to  study  the  room  in  deeper  perspective.  I  never 
followed  out  this  sedate  contemplation,  for  instead 
I  happened  to  look  over  the  balcony.  Across 
the  court  of  the  garden  I  saw  into  an  open  room 
of  a  wing.  Three  little  girls,  from  about  five 
to  seven  years  of  age,  were  being  trained  in  the 
arts  of  the  geisha.  At  that  moment  their  in- 
struction was  in  the  dance. 

The  work  was  being  gone  through  seriously  but 
the  teachers  were  sympathetic  and  encouraging. 
A  dancing  master  assumed  the  general  superin- 
tendence: several  older  girls,  full-fledged  geishas, 
sat  offering  suggestions  from  their  experience. 


THE  BOYS  MUST  BE  TAUGHT  LOYALTY;  THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  THE  EMPIRE 
MUST  BE  TAUGHT  GRACE. 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    227 

They  were  in  simple,  everyday  dress  and  not  in 
geisha  costume.  The  novitiates  sometimes  begin 
their  training  even  younger  than  five  years. 
Quite  often  such  children  are  orphans  who  come 
into  the  profession  by  legal  adoption;  others  are 
the  children  of  parents  who  have  apprenticed  their 
daughters  under  an  arrangement  which  virtually 
amounts  to  a  sale.  Naturally  the  geisha  master 
does  not  select  children  who  do  not  possess  the 
promise  of  grace,  beauty,  and  charm.  The  long 
training  is  expensive  and  it  is  intended  that  there 
shall  be  a  return  on  the  investment.  The  little 
girls,  whom  we  could  see,  were  practising  over 
and  over  again  the  steps  of  some  classical  dance 
to  the  music  of  a  samisen.  From  the  expression 
of  their  faces  to  the  position  of  their  fingers  in 
carrying  their  fans,  every  possibility  of  technic 
which  should  enter  into  the  dance  was  receiving 
the  minutest  attention. 

For  many  years,  Hori  whispered,  the  training 
of  those  little  girls  must  go  on  to  one  end — to 
interest,  to  entertain,  and  to  amuse  men.  They 
will  be  taught  to  wear  the  gorgeous  silks  and 
embroideries  of  the  geisha;  they  will  be  taught 
that  every  movement  of  the  hand  and  arm  in 
pouring  tea  or  passing  the  cup  should  be  an  art; 
they  will  be  taught  when  they  should  smile,  when 


228  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

they  should  laugh,  and  when  they  should  sympa- 
thize; they  will  be  taught  how  to  converse,  how 
to  repeat  the  classical  tales  and  the  tales  of  folk- 
lore and  how  deftly  to  introduce  merry  stories 
of  the  day.  After  all  this  training  the  gradua- 
tion comes  when  they  enter  actively  into  the  life 
of  the  geisha.  In  this  budding  a  girl  may  amuse 
partly  by  the  mere  gossamer  fragility  of  her 
youth,  but  later  maturity  brings  the  capital  of 
acquired  experience,  not  only  in  the  art  of  enter- 
taining but  through  having  learned  that  the  charm 
of  woman  is  largely  the  solace  that  she  can  bring 
through  sympathy  and  understanding. 

What  is  the  end?  It  may  be  better  or  worse, 
tragic  or  domestic,  marriage,  shame,  servitude, 
modest  anonymity,  or  the  retirement  to  the  teach- 
ing of  her  art  to  another  generation.  Her  life 
is  one  obviously  wherein  the  path  has  many  by- 
ways to  temptation.  There  is  much  that  must 
be  insincere  and  tinsel.  If  many  a  little  heart, 
sweet,  modest,  and  unhardened,  is  crushed,  never- 
theless if  there  be  forgiving  gods  among  those 
to  whom  she  prays,  surely  those  gods  must  know 
that  these  Mary  Magdalenes  are  (so  a  poet  of 
the  yoshiwara  wrote)  in  the  greater  truth  as  the 
flowers  of  the  lotus.  Though  their  feet  have 
touched  the  black  mud  of  the  stagnant  pond, 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    229 

"  the   heart   of  the   geisha  is   the   flower   of   the 
lotus." 

We  heard  a  footstep  at  the  door  and  turned 
to  see  a  geisha  standing  there.  She  was  tall  and 
slender.  The  delicate  paleness  of  her  face  was 
even  whiter  through  fear.  She  saw  us,  bar-  ' 
barians,  sitting  in  the  refinement  of  the  tea- 
house room.  The  carmine  spots  on  her  lips  shone 
brightly,  giving  to  her  expression  the  unreality 
of  the  frightened  look  a  doll  might  have  if  sud- 
denly brought  to  life.  She  was  carrying  a  sami- 
sen.  Her  fingers  tightly  clutched  the  wrappings. 
She  came  across  the  room  toward  us  and  as  her 
knees  bent  against  the  skirt  of  her  kimono  I  could 
see  that  they  were  trembling.  She  sat  down  and 
tried  to  smile.  The  duty  of  a  geisha  is  to  smile. 
She  smiled  with  the  same  last  effort  of  loy- 
alty which  carries  the  soldier  into  a  hopeless 
charge. 

I  felt  an  abysmal  brute  to  be  there.  Absurd 
perhaps,  but  it  was  as  if  the  command  of  some 
strange,  scornful,  hitherto  unheeded,  almost  un- 
known spirit  of  justice  was  calling  me  to  name 
some  defence  why  man  in  his  arrogance  has 
assumed  the  right  to  pluck  the  beauty  of  the 
flowers  and  has  assumed  the  justification  that  the 
reason  for  the  perfume  and  the  beauty  is  that 


230  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

they  were  created  for  him.  It  was  a  strange  be- 
ginning for  the  gaiety  of  a  geisha  luncheon. 

Tsuro-matsu  drew  back  the  fold  of  her  sleeve 
to  her  elbow  and  raised  the  teapot.  The  spout 
trembled  against  the  rim  of  the  cup  which  she 
was  filling.  She  handed  the  cup  to  Hori  and 
until  that  moment  I  do  not  believe  that  she  had 
noticed  that  he  was  a  Japanese. 

"  The  child  is  frightened  to  death,"  said 
O-Owre-san.  "Say  something,  Hori,  quick!  If 
she  wants  to  go  home " 

Tsuro-matsu  had  read  the  meaning  of  the  words 
from  their  tone  before  Hori  tried  to  translate. 
She  smiled  and  this  time  her  lips  parted  from 
her  pretty  teeth  spontaneously.  Then  she  said 
that  Hisu-matsu,  a  second  geisha,  would  soon 
come.  When  the  messenger  had  arrived  for  them 
they  had  first  to  send  for  their  hair  dresser.  The 
messenger  had  told  them  that  the  guests  at  the 
tea-house  were  foreigners.  Thus  her  frightened 
anticipation  had  had  its  beginning  before  she  had 
entered  the  room.  We  asked  what  had  been  her 
fears. 

Tsuro-matsu  did  not  wish  to  say.  She  had 
once  before  seen  foreigners  but  only  from  her 
balcony.  We  still  persisted  in  our  question. 
When  she  realized  that  the  truth  would  please 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    231 

us  more  than  compliments,  even  if  the  telling 
somewhat  offended  against  the  etiquette  of  hos- 
pitality, she  ventured  slowly  to  repeat  some  of 
the  tales  which  had  been  passed  along  by  imagina- 
tive tongues  until  they  had  eventually  reached 
the  geisha  house  of  Kama-Suwa.  We  sat  wait- 
ing to  hear  some  legend  truly  scandalous,  but 
there  was  nothing  of  such  atrocity.  She  had  not 
heard  of  Buddhist  children  being  stolen  for  sacri- 
fice on  Christian  altars.  Our  barbarities  of  the 
Western  world  that  worried  the  geisha  sensibility 
were  departures  not  from  mercy  but  from  man- 
ners. We  were  wild  and  rough  and  of  much 
noise,  always  in  a  hurry,  and  knowing  nothing 
of  the  refinements,  such  as  tea  drinking,  and  we 
were  always  to  be  discovered  dropping  rice  grains 
from  our  chopsticks  onto  the  floor.  And,  as  a 
conclusion,  the  foreigner,  such  was  her  informa- 
tion, had  no  appreciation  for  gentle  conversation, 
nor  for  any  of  the  arts  of  social  intercourse  of 
which  the  geisha,  in  her  vocation,  is  the  guardian 
priestess. 

Of  all  the  intricacies  of  thought  in  modern 
Japan,  the  most  interesting  is  the  side-by-side 
existence  (without  its  possession  seemingly  arous- 
ing any  astonishment  in  the  mind  of  the  pos- 
sessors) of  two  completely  different  conceptions 


232  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

of  the  foreigner.  A  Japanese  may  sometimes 
sincerely  render  honour  to  a  foreigner  for  superior 
attainments  and  yet  sustain  the  old  feudal  idea 
that  the  foreigner  must  be  a  barbarian  even  in 
those  very  attainments.  It  is  quite  possible  when 
the  frightened  Tsuro-matsu  left  the  geisha  house 
in  her  'ricksha  that  she  not  only  felt  that  she  was 
going  to  an  ordeal  where  she  would  suffer  from 
the  crudities  of  the  inferior  foreigner,  but  that 
she  was  being  singled  out  for  the  distinct  honour 
of  entertaining  the  superior  foreigner.  In  one 
way,  for  the  common  people,  this  paradox  may 
be  partially  explained  by  the  fact  that  their 
leaders  order  them  to  honour  the  foreigner  for 
his  practical  achievements,  and  in  their  unhesi- 
tating loyalty  they  do  as  they  are  told.  It  is 
much  easier  to  accept  such  authority  than  to 
puzzle  out  how  the  knowledge  and  experience  of 
their  worshipped  ancestors  could  have  been  of 
such  superior  brand  and  yet  been  of  such  igno- 
rance. 

Tsuro-matsu  was  telling  us  something  of  her 
fears  when  Hisu-matsu  entered.  Upon  what 
scene  she  had  expected  to  come,  I  have  no  imagin- 
ing, but  her  surprise  at  the  state  of  intimate  peace 
which  did  reign  proved  that  she  had  been  thinking 
of  a  different  probability.  Her  surprise  dissi- 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    233 

pated  her  timidity,  and  she  began  to  laugh  at 
Tsuro-matsu's  earnestness.  Hisu-matsu  was  some- 
what older.  Her  geisha  dress  was  perhaps  richer ; 
quite  likely  her  skill  in  conversation  and  in  play- 
ing the  samisen  was  superior — but  she  was  not 
so  exquisitely  fragile  in  her  beauty. 

Japan  is  the  court  of  Haroun  al-Raschid  in 
the  love  of  hearing  stories.  Always  we  were 
being  asked  for  stories,  stories  of  romance,  love, 
and  adventure,  "  such  as  you  tell  at  home  when 
sitting  on  the  mats  drinking  tea."  Perhaps  the 
elevation  to  chairs  has  subtly  sapped  away  from 
us  the  art  of  tale  spinning  beyond  the  briefest 
of  anecdotes  and  jokes.  There  was  no  more  of 
a  response  in  us  when  Tsuro-matsu  asked  us  to 
tell  a  story  than  there  had  been  when  Hori  had 
asked  us  to  extemporize  poetry  in  the  valley  of 
the  Kiso.  We  scored  a  failure  as  always  but  a 
moment  later  chance  gave  us  a  second  opportunity 
for  the  vindication  of  Occidental  accomplishments. 

O-Owre-san  had  picked  up  a  samisen  and  was 
searching  for  some  harmonies  in  the  long  strings. 
In  the  mystery  of  the  night,  coming  out  of  the 
darkness,  the  music  of  Japan  has  a  certain  func- 
tioning charm  harmonizing  with  the  rhythm  of 
the  wings  of  insects  beating  their  way  through 
the  shadows;  but  to  hear  the  love  song  of  a  stri- 


234  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

dent  cicada  coming  from  the  white  throat  and 
red  lips  of  a  geisha — at  least  that  is  not  our 
melody  of  passion.  It  was  Hisu-matsu  this  time 
who  made  the  request.  She  asked  O-Owre-san 
to  sing  a  song,  "  as  you  sing  songs  in  America." 
This  was  the  chance  to  redeem  our  failure.  The 
hills  of  Norway  gave  O-Owre-san  a  birth-gift  of 
melody.  His  whistling  is  like  a  bird  call,  clear 
and  true.  Hori  and  I  insisted  that  he  must 
whistle.  It  was  the  air  of  a  folksong  that  he 
remembered.  It  had  the  Viking  cry  of  the  Norse 
wind  and  the  lust  of  storm  and  battle.  The  two 
girls  tried  to  listen. 

"  Change  to  Pagliacci,"  I  whispered.  The 
music  of  the  North  had  failed.  I  was  in  duress 
to  save  our  faces. 

Again  they  tried  to  listen.  Then  they  looked 
at  each  other  in  astonishment  and  in  each  pair 
of  eyes  there  was  annoyance.  They  began  talk- 
ing to  each  other  in  disregard  of  Pagliacci  and 
everything  Italian.  It  was  an  obvious  disregard. 
At  first  they  had  thought  that  he  might  be  prac- 
tising, but  when  he  continued  the  distressing 
sounds,  then  they  were  sure  that  we  were  making 
fun  of  their  request.  They  were  trying  to  save 
their  own  faces.  They  had  begun  talking  to 
prove  that  they  could  not  so  easily  be  taken  in. 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    235 

Hori  had  the  brilliancy  to  retreat.  He  hastened 
to  ask  them  to  sing  and  play  again.  By  sitting 
raptly  while  the  strings  of  the  samisen  were  rasped 
by  the  sharp  ivory  pick  and  their  voices  followed 
in  accompaniment,  we  were  able  in  a  measure  to 
atone  for  the  barbarity  of  our  own  music  by  show- 
ing that  we  could  listen  appreciatively  to  good 
music  when  opportunity  granted. 

The  hour  came  to  pay  our  reckoning  and 
to  depart.  We  said  good-bye  over  the  teacups, 
but  when  we  were  sitting  at  the  door  putting  on 
our  shoes  we  heard  the  sound  of  the  geishas' 
white  tabi  on  the  stairs.  Their  two  'rickshas 
wheeled  up  to  the  entrance  for  them,  but  they 
hesitated.  They  stood  whispering  to  each  other 
for  a  moment  and  then  turned  to  us  and  sug- 
gested that  they  would  walk  as  far  as  our  inn 
gate  with  us  if  we  wished.  O-Owre-san  and  I 
were  nonplussed.  Hori  hurriedly  told  us  that 
their  suggestion  was  a  marked  compliment,  that 
we  should  accept  it  with  thanks,  and  that  he 
would  explain  later.  Sometimes — and  the  occa- 
sions are  supposed  to  be  so  sufficiently  rare  as 
to  be  of  complimentary  value — a  popular  geisha 
will  drag  the  hem  of  her  embroidered  kimono 
along  the  street  in  this  custom  of  courtesy  by 
which  she  shows  her  appreciation  for  her  enter- 


236  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

tainment.  It  should  be  remembered  that  a  geisha 
is  traditionally  a  guest.  In  Tokyo,  said  Hori, 
a  young  blood  who  has  spent  his  last  spendthrift 
sen  on  a  gorgeous  dinner  will  await  such  approval 
as  the  hallmark  upon  his  artistry  as  host.  If  it 
is  denied  he  reads  in  the  answer  not  a  mere  femi- 
nine caprice  but  an  impartial,  critical  disapproval. 
He  seeks  for  the  reason  by  trying  to  remember 
any  errors  in  his  own  hostly  proficiency.  It  is 
to  be  imagined,  however,  that  while  the  bestowal 
of  this  approval  may  theoretically  only  be  em- 
ployed for  the  maintenance  of  the  rigid  standard 
of  etiquette  and  artistry,  in  practice  it  is  not  al- 
ways confined  to  such  rarefied  judgment. 

The  five  of  us  started  on  the  long  walk  to 
the  inn  gate.  I  am  afraid  that  the  gentle  geishas 
had  not  given  thought  to  the  composition  of  the 
picture.  Tsuro-matsu  was  rather  tall  for  a  Jap- 
anese, but  Hisu-matsu  was  not,  and  the  seiyo-jins 
were  somewhat  over  six  feet  each.  In  the  day- 
light, also,  the  geisha  costume  noticeably  brightens 
a  street.  Walking  abreast  we  made  a  cordon 
stretching  across  the  road  to  the  utter  bewilder- 
ment of  Kama-Suwa. 

We  had  found  before  this  that  the  crowds 
which  gather  in  provincial  towns  are  seldom  in- 
tentionally annoying,  although  sometimes  they  do 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    237 

jam  around  a  shop  door,  shutting  off  the  light 
and  air.  The  steadfast  staring  may  be  unpleas- 
ant, but  the  foreigner  soon  learns  to  think  little 
about  naive  curiosity.  Our  march  through  Kama- 
Suwa  certainly  did  attract  attention,  but  the 
crowds  separated  and  allowed  us  to  pass  without 
following  at  our  heels,  and  I  believed  Hori  when 
he  said  that  this  heroic  restraint  of  curiosity  arose 
from  their  innate  feeling  that  its  manifestation 
would  be  discourteous  and  inhospitable.  This 
sense  of  consideration  was  not  a  sufficiently  quick 
reaction,  however,  to  prevent  inordinate  amaze- 
ment when  anyone  met  us  suddenly.  A  boy  on 
a  bicycle,  coming  round  a  corner,  forgot  his  own 
personal  existence  entirely  and  his  unguided  wheel 
carried  him  directly  into  a  shop  door,  somewhat 
to  the  disturbance  of  the  menage  and  himself. 
Our  progress  continued  slowly  as  the  toed-in 
sandals  under  the  long  kimono  skirts  of  the 
geishas  did  not  take  steps  measuring  with  our 
usual  stride.  We  found  that  dictionary  conversa- 
tion could  not  be  pursued  expeditiously  in  the 
street,  and  after  a  few  attempts  to  make  known 
words  do  the  work  of  unknown  with  discouraging 
results,  the  advance  proceeded  silently  and  rather 
solemnly,  although  I  received  flashes  from  those 
two  demure  maids  that  they  had  a  sense  of  hu- 


238  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

mour.  The  corners  of  their  mouths  did  twitch 
in  mischievous  enjoyment  of  the  situation. 

When  we  reached  the  shores  of  the  lake  we 
sat  down  on  the  rocks  and  watched  the  boats. 
The  rising  breeze  roughened  the  surface  into  a 
long  path  of  flame  against  the  red  sun.  Hisu- 
matsu  had  been  dissatisfied  all  afternoon  with 
the  hurried  effort  of  her  hairdresser.  She  drew 
out  the  large  combs  and  the  heavy  strands  of  hair 
fell  over  her  shoulders.  She  told  us  a  queer, 
whimsical  story  about  the  birds  that  were  flying 
over  the  reeds.  They  said  good-bye  to  us  and 
walked  away  and  we  turned  in  at  our  inn  lane. 

Our  dinner  was  very  late.  Finally  the  stum- 
bling maid  came,  rubbing  her  eyes  and  yawning. 
She  was,  as  always  we  had  seen  her,  on  the  im- 
mediate point  of  going  to  sleep.  She  had  been 
carrying  sake,  all  the  night  before,  but  she  had 
been  almost  as  sleepy  on  the  previous  day.  Now, 
in  serving  dinner,  she  went  definitely  to  sleep 
every  time  there  was  a  lull  in  her  duties.  She 
had  one  hiatus  of  lukewarm  wakefulness  in  which 
she  mumbled  some  appeal  to  Hori,  but  he  declared 
to  us  that  the  words  had  no  sense.  We  began 
fearing  for  the  few  faculties  she  appeared  to  have. 

Hori  listened  more  carefully.  "  I  believe  she 
is  saying  something,"  he  decided. 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    239 

Little  by  little  we  learned  that  she  had  a  favour 
to  ask  the  foreign  doctor.  Just  how  she  had  dis- 
covered that  O-Owre-san  had  medical  wisdom  was 
a  mystery.  She  said  that  all  Japan  knows  that 
foreign  doctors  can  do  anything.  She  begged 
for  a  drug  to  keep  her  awake,  something  that 
she  could  swallow  so  that  she  would  never  feel 
sleepy  again,  or  better  than  that,  some  drug  so 
potent,  if  there  were  any  such,  that  she  would 
never  even  have  to  sleep  again. 

"H'm,"  said  the  foreign  doctor.  "Tell  her 
there  isn't  any  such  drug.  Tell  her  to  get  a  good 
night's  sleep.  She  will  feel  better  about  it  in 
the  morning." 

Her  disappointment  was  pitiful. 

"  But  I  shall  never  have  a  night's  sleep,"  she 
said.  "  If  I  ask  for  time  to  sleep  I  shall  be 
told  that  there  are  many  maids  who  will  be  glad 
to  take  my  place."  She  knew,  she  went  on,  that 
she  was  very  stupid,  but  she  maintained  that  she 
was  not  so  stupid  when  she  was  not  so  sleepy. 

It  is  outside  our  comprehension  and  experience 
how  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  can  labour  on  and 
on,  more  nearly  attaining  a  wakeful  condition 
for  the  full  round  of  the  day  than  the  individuals 
of  other  races  would  consent  to  endure  even  if 
they  could  continue  life  under  the  strain.  In  all 


940  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

inns  the  maids  work  long  hours,  nor  do  the  mis- 
tresses spare  themselves.  The  mistress  of  the  inn 
at  Kama-Suwa  seemingly  lacked  the  usual  kindly 
sympathy  for  her  maids  and  was  unusually  de- 
manding. O-Hanna-san  (the  irony  of  calling 
her  a  flower!)  could  not  dare  the  risk  of  attempt- 
ing to  escape  from  her  slavery.  It  was  for  the 
sake  of  her  fatherless  child  that  she  dared  not, 
she  told  us.  She,  the  clumsy,  stumbling,  stupid, 
sleepy  maid,  had  had  her  tragedy  as  had  had  the 
pale,  forsaken  daughter  of  the  nobility  whom  she 
had  waited  upon  the  night  before. 

After  her  disappointment  that  she  could  obtain 
from  us  no  sleep-dispelling  drug  she  toppled 
again  into  unconsciousness.  We  could  at  least 
give  her  temporary  help.  We  sent  for  the  mis- 
tress and  asked  her  for  a  full  night's  sleep  for 
the  girl.  For  the  maid's  sake  it  was  necessary 
to  put  our  demand  on  the  ground  that  we  must 
have  better  service  in  the  morning.  This  saved 
the  face  of  the  mistress.  After  the  mistress  had 
consented  and  had  gone,  poor  O-Hanna-san's 
affectionate  thanks  were  embarrassing. 

On  a  point  reaching  into  the  lake  and  under 
our  balcony  stood  a  small,  one-storied  shrine. 
It  was  sheltered  by  a  tiled  roof  pitched  on  four 
columns.  We  saw  from  our  room  two  figures 


TSURO-MATSU  AND  HISU-MATSU    241 

in  white  walking  along  the  shore.  They  stopped 
at  the  shrine  and  knelt  for  some  time.  When 
they  arose  the  bright  moon  suddenly  revealed 
that  the  two  figures  were  Tsuro-matsu  and  Hisu- 
matsu.  Hori  went  down  to  speak  to  them  and 
in  a  moment  their  three  heads  appeared  up  the 
stairs.  The  geishas  had  changed  the  silks  and 
brocades  of  their  costume  for  simple  white  ki- 
monos and  their  hair  was  not  now  arranged  after 
the  elaborate  style  of  the  professional  hairdresser. 
Instead  of  this  simplicity  detracting  it  quite 
startlingly  bespoke  the  charm  of  their  delicate 
beauty. 

They  were  embarrassed  and  they  were  blush- 
ing. It  was  one  thing  to  have  it  their  duty  to 
be  whirled  in  'rickshas  to  a  tea-house  to  meet 
strange  patrons,  but  to  pay  an  informal  visit  at 
our  rooms,  especially  at  that  hour,  was  quite  an- 
other affair,  and  most  unconventional.  They 
were  shocked  at  their  own  impulsiveness  in  having 
run  up  the  stairs  and  they  were  very  much  afraid 
that  someone  in  the  inn  would  discover  their 
presence.  The  little  shrine,  it  appeared,  was  in 
especial  favour  with  the  members  of  the  geisha 
house  where  they  lived,  and  they  often  came, 
particularly  if  the  moon  were  shining  in  the  early 
evening,  to  worship  before  their  duties  called. 


242  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

We  opened  our  rucksacks  and  found  some  odds 
and  ends  which  we  made  do  for  presents.  They 
chatted  for  a  moment  and  then  ran  off  into  the 
night. 

Later  Hori  told  me  that  as  they  were  going 
they  had  asked  us  to  be  their  guests  at  the  theatre 
— there  was  a  performance  of  one  of  the  classic 
dramas  by  a  travelling  troupe  from  Tokyo — and 
afterwards  to  have  supper  at  the  tea-house. 

Hori's  explanation  of  his  refusal  was  rather 
intricate  and  elaborate,  but  stripped  of  bushido  I 
think  the  inner  simplicity  was  that  he  had  suffered 
enough  for  one  day  from  the  conspicuous  exhibi- 
tion of  our  long  legs  and  he  had  no  desire  for 
being  responsible  for  taking  them  into  a  crowded 
Japanese  theatre. 


XIII 

A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS 

IT  was  dark  and  threatening  the  next  morning 
but  we  decided  to  be  on  our  way.  We  bought 
a  couple  of  paper  umbrellas.  We  soon  found 
that  when  we  needed  them  at  all  that  day  we 
needed  a  roof  much  more.  Hori  was  off  on  his 
bicycle  and  we  arranged  to  overtake  him  at  the 
village  of  Fujimi.  We  were  hardly  out  of  Kama- 
Suwa  before  we  had  to  make  our  first  dash  for 
shelter  to  escape  drowning  in  the  open  road.  The 
thatched  house  which  we  besieged  for  shelter 
would  probably  have  been  most  picturesque  on  a 
sunny  day  but  it  was  exceedingly  primitive  for 
a  storm.  Our  hostess  was  a  very  old  woman, 
diminutive  and  smiling.  The  rain  pounded 
against  her  hut  and  discovered  every  possible 
chance  to  force  its  way  in.  She  tried  to  start 
a  fire  from  damp  sticks  and  charcoal  and  suc- 
ceeded after  a  long  effort.  The  fire  was  to  heat 
the  water  for  our  tea.  It  was  useless  to  protest. 
No  guests  might  leave  her  house  unhonoured  by 
a  cup  of  tea. 

243 


244  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

Japan  never  seems  so  remote  from  the  West 
as  when  seen  through  the  rain.  Fishermen,  in 
straw  raincoats,  were  wading  in  the  creeks  with 
hand  nets.  The  children  in  the  villages  were 
wading  in  the  gutters. 

The  towns  seemed  self-sufficient  and  prosper- 
ous. They  had  captured  the  mountain  streams 
and  had  led  them  away  from  their  channels  to 
run  in  deep,  wide  canals  through  the  streets. 
Innumerable  waterwheels  drew  upon  this  energy 
for  the  miniature  factories.  We  were  walking 
through  one  of  these  towns — the  sun  was  shining 
brightly  at  the  moment — when  there  was  a 
sprinkling  of  giant  drops.  We  knew  that  that 
meant  another  cloudburst  and  we  turned  in  at 
the  first  door.  It  was  a  barber's  shop.  We 
asked  permission  for  standing  room,  but  the  men 
who  had  been  sitting  around  a  large  brazier  lifted 
it  away  and  insisted  upon  giving  us  their  places 
on  the  matting. 

The  chairs,  the  mirrors,  the  shampoo  bowls,  the 
razors,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  elaborate  parapher- 
nalia looked  so  immaculate  and  usable  that  I 
expected  O-Owre-san  to  decide  that  it  would  be 
discourteous  for  him  to  waste  such  an  oppor- 
tunity of  having  his  beard  trimmed.  He  sur- 
prised me  by  suggesting  that  we  toss  up  to  see 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  245 

which  one  should  make  the  experiment  of  the 
complete  surrender  to  all  the  inventions.  Per- 
haps he  was  tactfully  suggesting  that  my  un- 
kemptness  showed  the  greater  necessity,  but  the 
turn  of  the  coin  made  him  the  adventurer. 

The  rain  was  now  falling  so  that  it  swept  the 
streets  in  a  flood.  The  thunder  was  shaking  the 
hills.  A  thunderstorm,  for  me,  is  the  most  sopo- 
rific inducer  in  the  world  and  my  eyes  began 
to  waver  and  soon  I  was  many  times  asleep. 
When  I  awoke,  under  O-Owre-san's  urge,  the 
sun  was  out  again.  My  joints  were  stiff,  I  was 
sleepy,  and  I  was  old,  but  the  world  seemed 
very  new  after  its  scrubbing,  and  nothing  less 
than  jauntiness  could  express  the  state  of  trans- 
formation, brought  about  by  clippers,  shears,  hot 
towels,  and  everything  that  went  with  the  treat- 
ment, in  the  appearance  of  my  companion.  The 
barber  and  his  two  assistants,  with  their  huge 
palm  fans,  were  bowing  and  smiling  with  an  air 
of  complete  satisfaction.  I  was  out  of  sympathy 
both  with  refurnished  nature  and  the  revamped 
man.  I  remarked  irritably  that  his  pursuit  of 
beauty  would  be  the  ruination  of  our  joint  purse. 

'  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  the  fees  equalled  the 
bill.  I  had  to  pay  some  rent  for  your  taking  up 
the  entire  floor  for  your  siesta." 


246  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

The  bill  had  been  five  sen  and  the  fees  had 
been  five  sen,  so  that  altogether  we  had  squan- 
dered five  cents  of  our  money. 

Fujimi  is  little  more  than  a  hamlet.  It  is 
tucked  away  in  a  fold  of  the  hills  off  the  main 
paths  of  the  trail.  Its  days  are  probably  as  an- 
cient as  the  worship  of  Fuji.  The  view  of  the 
sacred  mountain  from  Fujimi  is  a  paradox  of  the 
beautiful.  The  sudden  sight  of  the  blue  outline 
of  the  mountain  against  the  sky  comes  crushingly 
into  one's  consciousness  as  an  extraordinary 
awakening  and  quickening,  and  yet  the  emotion 
is  deep,  reverent,  and  silent.  Maybe  it  was  our 
undue  imagination  but  the  peasants  of  the  valley 
seemed  marked  by  quietude.  While  Fuji-yama 
was  cloud  hidden  that  first  day,  on  the  long  walk 
of  the  next  we  found  the  lonely  labourers  of  the 
isolated  farm  terraces  often  staying  their  work 
for  a  moment,  their  consciousness  lost  in  passion- 
ate gaze  toward  the  sacred  slope. 

It  was  only  by  much  questioning  of  the  peas- 
ants whom  we  met  on  the  road  that  we  were  able 
to  find  the  hamlet.  Once  when  we  were  unable 
to  understand  the  answer,  with  a  quick  smile  to 
disarm  our  protests,  the  questioned  one  turned 
back  his  steps  until  he  could  point  out  the  path. 
We  had  been  swinging  along  at  our  best  pace  in 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  247 

the  hours  between  torrents  and  it  was  not  long 
after  mid-day  when  we  found  Hori's  bicycle  out- 
side an  inn.  O-Owre-san  declared  that  our  six- 
teen or  so  miles  had  not  aroused  him  from  the 
sluggishness  brought  on  by  a  full  day's  rest  at 
Kama-Suwa  and  he  was  for  going  on,  but  as 
the  rain  was  now  falling  again,  this  time  in  a 
settled  drizzle,  he  had  to  be  a  martyr  to  enduring 
a  roof  over  his  head  or  else  to  seek  his  own 
drenching. 

The  inn  was  the  most  meagre  in  ordinary 
equipment  of  any  that  we  had  found.  It  was 
not  much  more  than  a  rest-house,  although  it  had 
evidently  at  one  time  been  of  more  pretence. 
The  fear  expressed  by  our  host  that  his  house 
was  unworthy  had  the  ardour  of  conviction.  In 
order  to  know  better  what  to  borrow  from  his 
neighbours  for  the  entertainment  of  the  seiyo-jins 
he  suggested  a  scale  of  three  prices.  We  chose 
the  middle  quotation  of  one  yen,  twenty  sen  (sixty 
cents).  The  fire  was  then  started  in  the  kitchen. 

Japanese  architecture  is  said  to  be  in  direct 
line  of  descent  from  the  nomadic  tent  of  Central 
Asia.  Just  as  the  roof  and  the  four  corner  posts 
are  the  essentials  of  the  tent,  in  the  building  of  a 
Japanese  house,  the  corner  posts  are  first  set  up 
and  the  roof  is  built  next.  Our  inn  might  have 


248  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

served  this  theory  of  descent  as  an  admirable 
example.  The  roof  was  the  chief  reason  for  its 
existence.  There  were  no  wings.  The  stairway 
was  on  the  outside,  coming  up  through  the  bal- 
conies which  ran  completely  around  the  two  upper 
floors.  In  winter  days  when  wooden  shutters 
enclose  and  darken  the  rooms  the  bare  simplicity 
may  grow  dreary.  The  wind  is  then  the  father 
of  shivering  draughts  which  creep  over  the  floor, 
but  for  the  days  of  summer,  when  the  green  val- 
ley of  Fujimi  lies  in  the  shelter  of  the  great 
granite  ranges,  the  memory  of  the  stifling  cave- 
like  rooms  of  our  Western  architecture  seemed 
barbarous  and  of  dull  imagination  in  comparison. 
The  philosophy  of  Japan's  housebuilding  appears 
to  be  that  it  is  better  fully  to  live  with  nature 
in  nature's  season  of  wakefulness  than  to  invent 
a  compromise  shelter  equally  reserved  against 
nature  through  the  revolution  of  the  year. 

O-Owre-san  had  gone  exploring  to  find  the 
bath.  A  few  minutes  later  our  host  excitedly  came 
up  the  stairs  to  warn  us  that  the  bearded  foreigner 
was  tempting  destruction.  Rumour  that  foreign- 
ers have  experimented  with  cold  baths  and  have 
discovered  reactions  within  themselves  to  endure 
such  rigour  had  not  reached  Fujimi.  When  the 
impatient  foreigner  had  learned  that  the  hot 


WE  BOUGHT  PAPER  UMBRELLAS 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  249 

bath  was  not  ready,  he  filled  the  tub  with  the 
icy  water  that  came  spouting  through  a  bamboo 
pipe.  In  the  midst  of  our  efforts  to  calm  our 
host,  O-Owre-san,  himself,  appeared,  red  and 
beaming.  Nevertheless,  neither  his  rosiness  nor 
his  exhilaration  could  allure  Hori  and  me  into 
following  his  recommendation  to  go  and  do  like- 
wise. We  decided,  instead,  to  take  the  host's 
advice.  He  sent  us  to  the  public  baths.  Armed 
with  towels,  and  in  borrowed  kimonos  and  bor- 
rowed wooden  geta,  we  set  forth.  My  kimono 
came  to  my  knees,  no  lower,  and  it  was  restricted 
in  other  dimensions.  For  the  women  and  chil- 
dren sitting  in  the  doorways  our  progress  through 
the  street  may  have  brought  some  interest  into  a 
rainy  and  perhaps  otherwise  dull  afternoon. 

The  baths,  housed  in  a  low,  small,  ramshackle 
building,  were  famous  for  leagues  about.  The 
keeper  of  the  baths  was  a  "  herbist."  He  went 
out  into  the  mountains — on  stealthy  and  secret 
excursions  which  the  cleverest  tracker  had  never 
followed — and  brought  back  sweet-scented  hay 
which  his  wife  sewed  into  bags  and  threw  into 
the  hot  water.  Everything  about  the  discovery, 
she  said,  was  their  own  secret.  Whatever  was  the 
secret  of  the  herbs,  the  natural,  delicate  perfume 
was  pleasing.  The  two  tubs  for  the  men  were 


250  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

fairly  large  tanks.  They  had  been  freshly  filled 
with  heated  spring  water  just  before  we  entered. 
It  was  not  yet  the  men's  hour,  but  a  half-dozen 
women  were  in  their  half  of  the  building,  either 
busily  pouring  water  over  themselves  on  the  scrub- 
bing platform  or  sitting  placidly  up  to  their 
chins  in  the  hot  water.  The  mistress  was  most 
energetic.  She  had  a  pair  of  large  scrubbing 
brushes  which  she  was  applying  to  their  backs. 
Back  scrubbing  in  Japan  is  an  ancient  institu- 
tion and  the  practice  may  have  some  real  physio- 
logical merit.  At  least  the  vigorous  scrubbing  up 
and  down  the  vertebrae  produces  a  soothing  and 
restful  reaction. 

A  phrase  that  I  had  come  across  in  my  diction- 
ary had  stuck  in  my  memory.  Translated,  it  was : 
"  Will  you  kindly  honour  me  by  scrubbing  my 
back? "  I  asked  Hori  whether  my  remembrance 
and  pronunciation  of  the  Japanese  words  were 
correct. 

"  Pretty  good,"  said  he,  and  then  I  saw  a  slum- 
bering twinkle  in  his  black  eyes.  "  But  why  do 
you  practise  on  me?  Why  don't  you  say  it  to 
the  mistress  to  see  whether  she  will  understand? " 

"  Stop ! "  I  spluttered.  But  it  was  too  late. 
He  had  called  out  to  the  busy  mistress  to  ask 
the  foreigner  to  ask  to  have  his  back  scrubbed. 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  251 

Until  that  moment  we  had  been  inconspicuous 
in  our  dark  end  of  the  room,  but  now  everybody 
looked  up  and  edged  along  for  the  entertainment 
of  hearing  a  foreigner  speak  Japanese.  I  was 
responding,  but  my  phrases  were  directed  at  Hori 
and  had  nothing  to  do  with  back  scrubbing. 

There  are  exigencies  of  fate  which  come  down 
upon  one  like  an  avalanche.  The  revenue  to  the 
busy  mistress  from  the  use  of  her  scrubbing  brush 
was  three  sen  from  each  person,  which  was  a  full 
sen  more  than  for  the  bath  itself,  and  thus  busi- 
ness was  business  and  a  serious  matter  with  her. 
She  descended  upon  me  with  her  three-legged 
stool  and  scrubbing  brushes  and  proceeded  to 
earn  the  extra  sen.  I  was  completely  cowed  by 
her  determination. 

We  sat  parboiling  ourselves  in  the  tub  for 
some  time.  All  the  customers  had  now  either 
been  scrubbed  or  had  not  asked  to  be  scrubbed, 
and  the  mistress  could  sit  down  for  a  moment  to 
rest  and  to  talk.  Particularly  did  she  talk.  She 
talked  on  and  on,  exploiting  the  merits  of  the 
local  advantages  of  Fujimi.  Ah,  where  could  one 
go  to  find  Fujimi's  equal?  Such  views!  And 
we  must  promise  to  visit  the  tea-house.  It  was 
unfair  to  refuse  that  to  Fujimi.  The  maids,  it 
was  true,  were  not  geishas,  but  they  were  every 


252  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

whit  as  talented  as  any  geisha  of  Tokyo,  and  sang 
and  played  and  danced  far  better  than  provincial 
geishas. 

Back  in  our  inn  the  extra  twenty  sen  apiece 
above  the  minimum  rate  had  wrought  marvels 
in  the  kitchen.  We  were  hungry.  We  were 
always  hungry.  And  we  had  learned  always  to 
expect  the  inn  dinners  to  satisfy  our  demands. 
That  night  we  truly  had  marvellous  dishes.  The 
bamboo  shoots  were  as  tender  as  bamboo  shoots 
can  be.  Whether  supreme  genius  or  chance  was 
responsible  for  the  sauce  for  the  chicken,  the  re- 
sult was  perfection.  Dinner  was  very  early. 
After  the  meal  I  found  a  longer  kimono  and, 
as  the  rain  had  stopped  for  an  interval,  Hori 
and  I  walked  to  a  hill  to  see  the  sunset.  On  our 
way  back  we  passed  the  tea-house  which  had 
been  so  enthusiastically  recommended  by  the  mis- 
tress of  the  baths.  We  went  in.  Green  peaches 
were  brought  to  us  to  nibble  at,  and  tea  and  warm 
beer  to  sip. 

The  house  was  indeed  gorgeous  with  its  gold 
screens  and  polished  wood.  The  decorations  al- 
most kept  within  traditional  taste,  and  simplicity 
had  not  been  too  grievously  erred  against;  but 
the  atmosphere  of  proportion  and  rhythm  had 
been  missed  by  that  narrow  margin  which  per- 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  253 

versely  is  more  irritating  inversely  to  the  width 
of  the  escape.  We  may  possibly  have  had  the 
added  impulse  to  this  critical  judgment  by  the 
insidious  predilection  of  the  mosquitoes  for  us 
rather  than  for  the  two  maids  who  were  paring 
the  peaches.  One  of  them  explained  that  the 
mosquitoes  of  Fujimi  are  famous  for  preferring 
outsiders. 

Two  of  the  rooms  were  crowded  with  supper 
parties,  of  wine,  women,  and  song,  but  compared 
to  the  revelries  of  bucolic  bloods  in  other  lands, 
something  might  be  said  in  praise  of  such  re- 
straint as  prevailed  in  the  Fujimi  tea-house.  It 
may  be  no  honour  nor  compliment  to  the  spirit 
of  refinement  to  wish  vice  as  well  as  virtue  clothed 
in  some  modicum  of  grace  and  retirement,  but 
it  does  make  the  world  easier  to  live  in. 

The  soft  rain  stopped  dripping  from  the  eaves 
some  time  in  the  night  and  the  sky  was  clear 
when  the  sun  leaped  above  the  mountain  ridge, 
as  if  impatient  to  find  the  radiance  of  the  glorious, 
virginal  day.  The  green  of  the  valley  was  a 
glowing  emerald  and  the  mountains  were  sharp 
and  grey  with  no  shielding  haze. 

Our  host  sent  his  daughter  to  lead  us  through 
a  short  cut  in  the  hills  to  the  main  road.  Hori, 
with  his  bicycle,  had  to  take  the  conventional  path. 


254  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

The  little  musume  trotted  along  at  our  side  with 
a  full  sense  of  responsibility,  her  feet  twinkling 
down  the  rocky  pitches,  her  kimono  sleeves  flut- 
tering out  like  wings.  Suddenly  she  pointed  the 
way  and  then,  before  we  could  thank  her,  ran 
back.  Skipping  and  dancing  she  ran,  reaching 
out  her  hands  to  the  leaves  on  the  bushes  or 
waving  them  to  the  flying  insects. 

The  rain  clouds  had  hidden  Fuji-san  the  day 
before.  On  this  morning  as  we  came  through  the 
sharp  cut  in  the  rocks  which  led  to  the  main  road, 
outlined  against  the  sky  we  saw  the  long  purple 
slope.  We  climbed  to  a  terrace  on  the  side  of 
a  granite  block  and  sat  with  our  feet  dangling 
and  our  chins  in  our  hands.  There  was  one  white 
cloud,  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand.  It  floated 
slowly  toward  the  crater  and  then  hesitated  above 
the  snow  ribs  on  the  sides.  Then  came  another 
cloud  across  the  sky,  then  another  and  another, 
until  the  summit  was  hidden  by  the  glowing  veils. 
We  slid  down  from  our  rock  and  walked  on  to- 
ward the  mountain. 

From  the  day  that  we  left  the  plains  and  turned 
into  the  hills  our  tramping  had  been  long  climbs 
but  now  the  road  again  dropped  away  toward  the 
lowlands.  We  had  easily  forgotten  the  hours  of 
dancing  heat  waves,  but,  with  a  start,  I  began 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  255 

to  remember  Nagoya,  of  the  rice  plains,  of  those 
stifling  nights  and  brazen  days.  The  memory 
had  also  grown  dim  of  my  once  rhapsodical  joy 
in  finding  shaved  ice  to  slake  my  dusty  thirst. 
If  I  had  never  known  anything  but  the  quiet, 
velvet  smoothness  of  water  from  wells  and  springs 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  grind  of  ice  particles 
against  my  tongue  had  been  denied  me,  then  I 
might  well  have  mistaken  affection  for  passion. 
There  was  no  spring  nor  stream  to  be  found. 
The  lower  path  of  the  widening  valley  was  grow- 
ing into  a  road  but  we  were  following  a  trail 
higher  up  on  the  ridge.  Down  under  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  we  thought  we  saw  a  thatched  roof. 
If  there  was  a  house  there,  there  would  be  water. 
We  found  a  path  downward  by  making  it,  and 
we  were  rewarded  by  seeing  a  house  under  the 
trees. 

An  old  woman  was  reeling  silk  from  the  co- 
coons which  she  had  floating  in  a  bowl  of  hot 
water.  She  glanced  up  casually  when  she  heard 
our  step,  but  when  she  saw  what  she  saw  her 
mouth  and  eyes  opened  and  the  cocoons  dropped 
from  her  fingers.  It  was  the  purity  of  absolute 
surprise  without  admixed  fear  or  any  other  dilut- 
ing emotion.  I  began  to  doubt  that  she  would  ever 
have  another  emotion  but  at  last  the  need  for 


256  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

breath  racked  her,  and  the  resulting  gasp  freed 
her  from  the  spell  of  silence  which,  indeed,  was 
a  most  unusual  state.  She  assailed  us  with  a 
deluge  of  questions.  With  every  possible  varia- 
tion of  the  query  she  demanded  to  know  if  we 
were  really  foreigners.  I  was  repeating,  "  Hei, 
hei,  seiyo-jin"  as  best  I  could  when  I  heard 
coming  through  the  valley  the  welcome  rattle  of 
the  demon  bicycle. 

I  turned  over  my  task  to  Hori  and  he  took  up 
the  assurance  to  the  old  woman  that  she  was  actu- 
ally in  the  presence  of  flesh  and  blood  foreigners. 
With  his  every  reiteration  the  wider  became  the 
smile  of  her  satisfaction.  She  stood  on  one  foot 
and  then  the  other  and  clapped  her  hands  and 
finally  ran  across  the  road  to  another  house.  She 
called  into  the  door  and  a  young  woman  came  out. 
The  girl  was  the  wife  of  her  grandson  and  the 
explanations  had  to  be  made  over  again  for  her. 
Then  we  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  she  brought 
tea  and  cold  water  and  red  peaches.  The  ques- 
tions still  came.  Our  wrinkled  hostess  was  a  de- 
lighted child.  She  stared  at  one  of  us  and  then 
turned  to  stare  at  the  other.  At  last  she  settled 
a  continuing  gaze  upon  me.  She  was  enduring 
some  restraint  but  it  could  be  humanly  en- 
dured no  longer.  She  walked  over  to  me  and 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  257 

naively  unbuttoned  the  top  buttons  of  my  flannel 
shirt. 

"  It  is  so,"  she  said  to  her  granddaughter-in- 
law,  "  they  are  white  all  over." 

When  we  got  up  to  go  I  asked  permission  to 
take  her  picture.  We  all  stepped  into  the  road 
together.  When  the  camera  clicked  and  was  again 
in  my  rucksack,  she  dramatically  raised  her  eyes 
to  the  mountain  tops  and  gave  us  her  vale. 

"  I  am  eighty  years  old.  I  have  never  seen  a 
foreigner.  I  have  wanted  all  my  life  to  see  a 
foreigner.  Now  that  I  have  seen  foreigners  I  can 
die  happy." 

We  gave  her  one  of  our  paper  umbrellas  as  a 
remembrance  so  that  if  she  should  wake  up  the 
next  morning  with  a  doubt  that  it  had  all  really 
happened  there  would  be  that  visible  evidence 
standing  in  the  corner.  The  testimony  of  our 
visitation  in  the  shape  of  fifteen-cent  umbrella 
was  evidently  appreciated.  She  took  it  cherish- 
ingly  in  her  arms  as  if  it  were  newborn  and  of 
flickering  life. 

It  is  fourteen  miles  by  railroad  from  Fujimi 
to  Hinoharu.  The  railroad  would  be  the  shortest 
distance  for  a  crow,  but  even  that  bird  might 
find  himself  the  blacker  if  he  should  essay  the 
long,  sooted  tunnels.  We  found  many  extra  miles 


258  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

by  exploring  the  up-and-down  paths  for  the 
changing  views  of  Fuji,  but  nevertheless  it  was 
early  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reached  Hinoharu. 
I  then  discovered  two  shaved  ice  shops,  one  after 
the  other,  and  the  intoxication  pitched  my  mood 
to  full  ebulliency.  For  one  day  O-Owre-san 
could  have  as  much  walking  as  he  could  digest 
as  far  as  I  was  concerned.  We  shouldered  our 
rucksacks  and  Hori  coasted  off  down  the  hill 
with  the  promise  of  a  welcome  of  shaved  ice  and 
a  hot  bath  at  the  best  inn  in  Nirasaki. 

Some  distance  out  of  Hinoharu  and  well  into 
the  country  we  discovered  two  brothers  of  the 
road.  They  were  trying  to  manufacture  a  cup 
out  of  a  piece  of  bamboo  to  reach  into  the  recesses 
of  the  rocks  to  get  at  the  water  of  a  trickling 
spring.  We  offered  them  the  aid  of  our  aluminum 
cup.  Japan  may  affirm,  as  she  does,  the  non-ex- 
istence of  any  variety  of  native  hobo,  but  I  am 
sure  that  either  of  our  new  friends  would  have  an- 
swered to  the  call  of  "  Hello,  Jack!  "  After  salu- 
tations and  thanks  were  passed,  O-Owre-san  and  I 
climbed  up  the  bank  to  the  plot  of  grass  in  front 
of  a  wayside  temple  and  sat  down  for  a  contem- 
plative rest  in  the  shade.  We  always  tempted 
calamity,  it  seemed,  when  we  tried  to  rest  under 
the  shadow  of  a  temple.  The  two  Jacks  came 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  259 

tumbling  after  and  shared  our  cigarettes  with 
Oriental  appreciation.  They  were  rather  pictu- 
resque individuals.  Their  cotton  clothes  were  not 
only  in  tatters  but  were  imaginatively  patched.  In 
a  land  where  there  is  nudity  and  not  nakedness 
patches  do  seem  an  affectation  of  the  imagination. 

I  was  sleepy  from  the  sun  and  I  dropped  back 
in  a  natural  couch  between  the  roots  of  a  tree 
and  pulled  my  cork  helmet  down  over  my  face  to 
keep  off  the  flies,  leaving  to  O-Owre-san  the  study 
of  the  habits  and  customs  of  the  Nipponese  tramp. 
As  I  lay  there  in  drowsy  half-sleep  one  of  those 
companions,  so  I  judged  from  the  sounds  which 
crept  under  my  hat  into  my  ears,  was  suffering 
from  a  mood  of  restlessness.  Also  he  was  afflicted 
with  a  strange,  gasping  wheeze.  I  had  just 
reached  the  point  of  being  interested  enough  to 
look  out  from  under  my  hat  when  a  panting 
breath  was  expulsed  over  my  neck,  and  my  hat 
arose  from  no  effort  of  mine.  I  was  left  lying 
between  the  roots  to  look  into  a  pair  of  pitiless, 
yellow  eyes. 

It  took  me  a  frigid  moment  to  discover  that 
my  vis-a-vis  was  a  horse.  The  animal  stood  over 
me,  holding  my  hat  in  his  teeth  just  beyond  any 
sudden  swing  of  my  hand.  After  he  had  had 
sufficiency  of  staring  he  tossed  his  head,  still  hold- 


260  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

ing  fast  to  the  hat,  and  ambled  off  towards  the 
road.  I  jumped  to  my  feet  and  followed.  As 
soon  as  the  bony,  ill-kempt  creature  stepped  out 
of  the  temple  grounds  his  malevolence  vanished. 
He  dropped  the  hat  into  the  gutter  and  jogged 
away  to  find  a  more  conventional  pasture.  We 
could  now  add  animals  to  the  list  of  uncanny 
powers  that  from  time  to  time  had  driven  us  from 
resting  in  temple  grounds.  I  had  no  temper  left 
for  facing  the  laughter  of  the  two  Japanese 
tramps.  I  called  back  to  O-Owre-san  that  I  was 
on  my  way  and  he  kindly  brought  my  rucksack. 
Instead  of  the  usual  sharp  differentiation  be- 
tween city  and  country,  Nirasaki  has  an  indefi- 
nite beginning  of  straggling  houses.  The  town 
lies  along  the  shore  of  the  Kamanashigawa  river, 
which  has  cut  its  way  through  the  granite  rocks 
of  the  valley,  a  strong  current  flowing  a  thick, 
whitish  grey  colour.  As  we  were  entering  the 
outskirts  we  heard  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  reed 
pipe  of  a  pedlar  and  a  moment  later  we  saw  him 
coming  out  of  a  gate  carrying  his  swinging 
boxes  of  trays  hung  from  a  yoke  across  his  shoul- 
ders. He  was  so  abnormally  tall  for  a  Japanese 
that  we  quickened  our  step  to  have  a  look  at  him. 
He  dropped  the  reed  from  his  lips  to  sing-song  his 
wares — odds  and  ends  of  shining  trumpery.  The 


A  LOG  OF  INCIDENTS  261 

words  were  Japanese  but  the  intoning  called  us 
back  to  China,  and  when  we  saw  his  face  we  were 
sure  that  he  was  a  Manchu.  He  knew  the  last 
ingratiating  artifice  that  has  ever  been  accredited 
either  to  pedlar  or  Celestial.  We  delayed  to  ap- 
preciate his  technic,  to  see  him  approach  the 
women  of  the  open-sided  houses,  and  to  fascinate 
them  by  the  intensity  of  his  will  to  please,  and 
also  by  his  ingratiating  gallantry. 

'Take  care!"  we  felt  like  saying  oracularly 
to  all  Japan.  '  Take  care  that  you  never  attempt 
the  conquest  of  China.  China  may  be  conquered 
but  never  the  Chinese.  They  will  rise  up  and  slay 
you  not  by  arms  but  by  serving  you  better  than 
you  can  serve  yourselves." 

We  found  Hori  resting  in  an  ice  shop.  He 
had  judged  truly  that  the  easiest  way  to  find  us 
was  to  let  us  find  him,  trusting  that  as  long  as  I 
had  a  sen  I  would  never  pass  a  kori  flag.  The 
very  pretty  maid  had  her  kimono  sleeves  tied 
back  from  her  graceful  arms.  I  do  not  know  what 
story  Kenjiro  Hori  had  concocted  to  tell  her  but 
after  she  had  handed  me  my  cupful  of  snow  she 
watched  me  steadily  with  the  air  that  she  expected 
black  magic  at  any  moment.  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Hori's  twinkle.  I  was  filled  with  suspicion. 
Finally  the  maid  turned  upon  Hori  in  exaspera- 


262  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

tion  and  said  many  things.  Some  strange  tale 
told  about  foreigners  must  have  been  one  of  Hori's 
best  creations,  but  in  some  way  we  had  failed  to 
live  up  to  our  heralding.  She  was  exceedingly 
pretty  and  a  pretty  girl  in  a  pretty  tempest  is  just 
as  interesting  and  bewitching  in  Nirasaki  as  in 
any  other  spot  in  the  world.  However,  any  trans- 
lation of  his  tale  to  her  Hori  refused  absolutely. 


XIV 

CONCERNING   INN   MAIDS   AND  ALSO   THE 
ELIXIR  OF  LIFE 

THE  native  inn  is  such  an  interweaving  of 
privacy  with  no  privacy  at  all  that  if  the  traveller 
has  a  sympathetic  liking  for  the  hospitality  it 
should  be  put  down  to  his  temperament  rather 
than  to  his  reasonableness  or  unreasonableness. 
Calling  upon  all  his  reasonableness,  the  foreigner 
may  still  be  miserable  amid  Japanese  customs  if 
he  were  born  to  a  different  crystallization.  Hori 
considered  the  inn  at  Nirasaki  to  be  rather  supe- 
rior to  the  average,  meaning,  I  judged,  not  the 
luxury  of  the  furnishings  so  much  as  the  excel- 
lence of  the  service.  The  house  was  crowded. 
At  most  of  the  country  inns  wrhich  we  had  so  far 
found  we  were  the  only  guests,  and  the  entire 
family  of  the  host  had  usually  requisitioned  itself 
into  service.  Willingness  and  interest  had  made 
up  for  the  few  lacks  but  this  home-made  machinery 
might  well  have  broken  down  if  there  had  been 
a  sudden  descent  of  other  guests.  At  Nirasaki, 
despite  the  crowding,  we  had  not  to  wait  an  in- 

263 


264  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

stant  for  the  carrying  out  of  any  request.  At  all 
times  two  maids  were  listening  for  our  handclap- 
ping  and,  for  some  of  the  time,  three.  They  added 
to  the  customary  willingness  the  knowing  how  of 
training.  They  were,  in  fact,  trained  inn  ne-sans, 
a  class  whose  manners  and  morals  have  been  com- 
mented upon  with  some  frequency  by  casual  trav- 
ellers, and  it  is  possible  that  the  outside  world's 
popular  judgment  of  Japanese  women  has  sprung 
largely  from  such  observations. 

In  any  argument  about  Japanese  morals  the 
likelihood  is  that  the  simplest  discussion  will  soon 
march  headlong  into  a  controversy.  There  arises 
in  a  critical  comparison  of  their  standards  with 
ours  the  temptation  to  assume  as  a  basis  our  ideal 
standard  against  their  everyday  practice. 

The  Japanese  maid,  the  daughter  of  the  com- 
mon people,  has  been  again  and  again  condemned 
for  the  easy  lightness  of  her  regard  for  her  vir- 
tue. I  have  not  found  that  foreigners  who  have 
lived  in  Japan  and  who  have  known  the  people 
intimately  join  their  assent  to  this  sweeping  judg- 
ment. This  charge  has  grown  out  of  a  confusion 
of  possibility  with  fact.  Although  we  consider 
that  our  Western  individualism  allows  far  more 
freedom  of  choice  than  does  the  Eastern  family 
social  regulation,  particularly  in  the  rigid  customs 


CONCERNING  INN  MAIDS        265 

and  traditions  for  women,  nevertheless  in  the  mo- 
rality of  sex  the  guardianship  of  her  chastity  by  an 
unmarried  Japanese  woman  of  the  lower  classes  is 
a  matter  much  more  of  her  private  concern  and 
nobody  else's  business  than  social  opinion  deems 
an  advisable  licence  with  us.  But  because  the 
Japanese  woman  has  this  freedom  it  is  as  absurd 
to  conclude  that  she  makes  but  one  choice  as  it 
would  be  to  believe  that  all  order  in  our  society  is 
maintained  solely  through  the  police  and  iron-clad 
restrictions.  When  conduct  shall  be  entirely  de- 
termined by  rules,  then  it  will  be  time  to  relegate 
character  to  the  museum. 

The  duties  of  the  maids  of  an  inn  have  never 
included  that  she  must  be  self -effaced  and  a  si- 
lent machine.  In  the  historic  friendly  relationship 
between  maids  and  guests  there  exists  a  certain 
standard  of  manners  and  good  taste,  a  subtle  ne- 
cessity to  the  continuance  of  such  existence.  One 
cannot  compare  the  customs  of  a  Japanese  inn 
with  the  traditions  existing  in  an  Occidental  hotel. 
The  ne-san  is  unique.  When  simplicity  and  naive 
amusement  are  spontaneously  natural,  vulgarity 
is  starved. 

After  dinner  the  three  maids  brought  a  fresh 
brewing  of  tea  and  teapots  filled  with  iced  water. 
They  also  brought  the  message  that  a  travelling 


266  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

theatrical  troupe  from  Tokyo  was  giving  both 
new  and  classical  plays  at  the  Nirasaki  theatre. 
The  actors  and  actresses  were  guests  under  our 
roof  and  the  mistress  of  the  inn  sent  the  sugges- 
tion that  the  strollers  would  probably  be  pleased 
to  entertain  us  in  our  room  with  an  act  from  one 
of  their  plays  and  with  dancing  and  music  when 
they  returned  at  midnight.  After  our  thirty  miles 
in  the  hot  sun  the  hour  of  midnight  sounded 
grotesquely  post-futuristic.  However,  it  might 
well  have  been  possible,  fortified  by  tea,  iced 
water,  and  tobacco,  to  have  awaited  the  hour  if 
it  had  not  been  for  another  limit  to  our  independ- 
ence. Temperamentally  we  might  take  little  heed 
of  the  morrow  but  we  had  also  New  England  con- 
sciences about  paying  our  bills.  We  could  not 
invite  the  players  to  our  room  without  inviting 
them  to  a  midnight  supper,  and  we  knew  that 
the  joint  treasury  could  not  pay  for  such  a  sup- 
per. 

Thus  we  made  the  excuse  to  the  ne-sans  that 
their  laughter  was  more  pleasing  to  us  than  the 
sound  of  the  samisen.  (This  statement  was  not 
without  truth  in  itself.)  The  responsibility  of 
amusing  us  did  not  seem  to  weigh  heavily  upon 
them;  in  fact  it  was  we  who  appeared  to  be  amus- 
ing to  them.  Stupid  creatures,  we,  who  could  not 


CONCERNING  INN  MAIDS        267 

even  play  the  game  of  "  Stone,  Scissors,  and  Pa- 
per ! "  Our  Occidental  wits  were  always  a  frac- 
tion of  a  second  behind.  Hori  laughed  at  the 
bearded  O-Owre-san  until  the  toxic  of  the  parox- 
ysm made  him  delirious.  At  last  we  acknowledged 
the  sheerness  of  our  defeats  at  every  venture  by 
sending  the  victors  for  ice  cream  and  cakes,  and 
the  evening  ended  with  the  solemn  ceremonial  of 
trying  to  move  the  small  tin  spoons  back  and 
forth  between  plate  and  lips  quickly  enough  to 
make  a  transfer  of  the  frozen  mounds  before  the 
heat  of  the  tropical  night  levelled  them  into 
liquid. 

To  escape  the  mid-day  sun  in  the  short  walk  to 
Kofu,  we  were  off  a  little  after  sunrise.  Kofu 
is  more  than  two  thousand  feet  lower  than  Fujimi 
and  lies  in  the  heart  of  a  flat  valley.  It  is  an 
ancient  city  and  has  not  lost  its  ancient  pride, 
being  the  wealthy  capital  of  the  Kai  province. 
We  had  so  much  time  for  the  walk  that  we  de- 
layed continually,  bargaining  in  little  second-hand 
shops  where  the  entire  stock  could  hardly  have 
been  worth  more  than  a  yen,  and  stopping  at  the 
coolie  tea  places  where  labourers  rested  to  smoke 
and  to  mop  their  faces  with  pale  blue  towels. 
When  we  were  entering  Kofu  we  were  again 
tempted  to  halt  upon  seeing  a  kori  flag  floating 


268  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

in  the  air,  proclaiming  that  an  ice  supply  had  ar- 
rived. We  had  not  expected  to  see  Hori  before 
we  should  meet  at  the  inn,  but  by  chance  he  came 
wheeling  along  our  street.  We  called  out  and  he 
came  into  our  shade.  Listeners  gathered  around 
our  bench,  apparently  not  so  much  interested  in 
seeing  foreigners  as  in  hearing  a  Japanese  speak 
English. 

In  the  crowd  was  a  very  old  man,  so  old  that 
his  age  seemed  pathological  rather  than  human. 
He  made  progress  by  a  slow  pushing  of  his  feet 
through  the  dust.  His  red-rimmed,  staring  eyes 
leered  into  ours  as  if  we  exerted  a  direct  line 
of  magnetism.  If  we  shifted  our  gaze  he  imme- 
diately shifted  around  until  he  again  came  into 
vision.  Under  his  arm  he  carried  a  long  glass 
bottle,  stoppered  with  a  cloth-wound  plug.  He 
held  up  the  bottle  before  us.  It  was  filled  \,iih  a 
dirty,  pale  yellow  liquid.  Pushed  into  the  uottle 
was  a  twisted  root  holding  in  the  tangle  of  fibres 
two  or  three  stones  furred  with  slime.  The  stones 
looked  somewhat  like  asbestos. 

;' What  do  you  think  it  is?"  he  asked  myste- 
riously. 

We  said  that  we  had  no  idea. 

"  I  wouldn't  dare  tell  you  the  secret,"  he  went 
on,  "  as  the  bottle  is  worth  five  hundred  thousand 


CONCERNING  INN  MAIDS        269 

yen.     If  you  should  pay  me  a  hundred  yen  I 
would  not  allow  you  one  taste." 

We  expressed  our  happiness  that  he  should 
have  such  a  fortune.  Then  he  asked  if  we  were 
Americans  and,  upon  hearing  that  we  were,  he 
formally  inquired  for  an  answer  as  to  whether 
the  American  nation  would  buy  the  bottle.  "  I 
can  tell  you  this  much,"  he  concluded,  "  it  contains 
the  elixir  of  eternal  life." 

The  ancient  seemed  to  be  such  proof  in  himself 
that  he  had  lived  forever  that  there  was  no  argu- 
ing about  eternity  with  him.  For  the  sake  of 
saying  something  Hori  made  the  casual  guess, 
"  Is  it  radium? "  He  was  startled  into  palsy. 
The  crowd  stared.  Evidently  they  had  heard  of 
radium  and  it  meant  magic.  Alas!  We  had 
gouged  out  the  secret.  "  Ah-h-h!  "  said  he,  "  since 
you  know  so  much,  how  can  you  resist  the  oppor- 
tunity of  living  forever? "  We  explained  that 
under  the  circumstances  of  our  poverty  it  looked 
as  if  we  should  have  to  die  along  with  the  rest  of 
the  world. 

"  I  have  been  but  testing  your  faith  and  knowl- 
edge," he  said.  '  The  radium  of  the  rocks  is 
permanent.  Listen!  The  bottle  may  be  filled 
again  and  again  without  losing  its  strength.  For 
only  thirty  yen  you  may  drink." 


270  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

Forthwith  he  uncorked  the  bottle  and  there 
escaped  an  odour  so  vile  that  if  he  had  said  the 
tube  was  the  sarcophagus  of  the  lost  egg  of  the 
great  auk  we  should  have  believed  without  dis- 
pute. He  poured  a  few  drops  into  a  glass  and 
said:  "Drink,  and  you  will  live  forever!" 

It  is  not  alone  honour  that  may  make  one  choose 
death. 

The  crowd,  however,  sought  eagerly  for  eter- 
nity. They  passed  the  glass  around  and  touched 
their  tongues  to  the  liquid.  If  any  out  of  the 
number  of  that  circle  escaped  typhoid  that  fact 
alone  ought  to  convince  them  of  their  strength  to 
continue  a  long  way  on  the  road  to  eternity. 


XV 

THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL 

WHETHER  or  no  the  Bosen-ka  inn  of  Kofu  does 
possess  a  wide  reputation  for  comfort,  it  should 
deservedly  have  it.  O-Shio-san  was  the  name  of 
the  maid.  This  means  O-Salt-san,  but  we  re- 
named her  "  O-Sato-san,"  which  means  Miss 
Sugar.  She  said  that  she  had  been  at  the  inn 
for  fifteen  years,  but  until  the  day  before  there 
had  never  come  a  foreigner,  and  now  there  were 
two  besides  ourselves.  I  do  not  understand  how 
such  immunity  could  have  been  possible  in  a  city 
the  size  of  Kofu.  However,  the  fact  that  there 
were  Occidentals  under  the  roof  of  the  hostelry 
at  that  moment  was  proved  by  sight  and  sound. 
After  the  many  days  of  hearing  only  the  Japanese 
cadence,  the  sound  of  Western  tongues  was  al- 
most startling.  The  large  room,  which  became 
ours,  was  in  the  main  building  and  faced  the  gar- 
den. We  could  look  across  to  the  wing  where 
the  two  foreigners  were  sitting  on  their  balcony. 
They  were  eating  tiffin  and  talking  vigorously. 
One  was  a  short,  black-haired,  merry  Frenchman, 

271 


272  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

the  other  a  tall,  blond,  closely-cropped  German. 
They  spoke  either  language  as  the  words  came. 
Quite  likely  they  had  been  in  the  same  univer- 
sity in  some  European  city,  and  their  travelling 
was  a  leisurely  grand  tour.  They  could  not  have 
been  hurried  or  they  would  not  have  taken  time 
to  search  out  Kofu.  Their  gay  spirit  was  charm- 
ing. They  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  world  with 
a  friendly  gaze  and  the  world  smiled  back  at 
them.  Within  the  month,  France  and  Germany 
were  to  declare  the  implacable  war.  /ty«^ 

High-pitched  footbridges  linked  together  the 
miniature  islands  of  the  garden  and  carried  a 
labyrinthine  path  over  the  lotus-covered  pond. 
Lying  on  the  cool,  clean  mats  of  our  room,  shel- 
tered from  the  sun,  the  thought  of  antique  shops 
lured  me  not.  I  declared  for  contemplation,  but 
Hori  and  O-Owre-san  wandered  forth.  O-Shio- 
san  brought  fresh  tea  and  a  brazier  of  glowing 
charcoal  for  my  pipe.  My  contemplation  began 
and  ended  with  a  luxurious  enjoyment  of  the  view 
of  the  garden.  Through  the  quiet  air  came  the 
slow,  deep  tones  of  temple  gongs.  It  was  a  day 
of  special  masses.  My  thoughts  found  rest  in 
sensuous  nothingness  and  I  drifted  tranquilly  in  a 
glory  of  inaction.  Another  day  of  such  devotion 
to  passivity  might  have  started  the  unfolding 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL        278 

within  me  of  the  leaves  of  appreciation  for  the 
philosophy  of  Nirvana,  but  in  the  morning  some 
illogical  shame  for  such  laziness  urged  me  into 
joining  the  pilgrimage  of  Hori  and  O-Owre-san 
to  the  Sen-sho  canon. 

The  deep,  sharp  cleft  in  the  granite  through 
which  that  mountain  stream  pitches  has  a  rugged 
beauty.  Most  perversely,  if  we  had  discovered 
the  grandeur  for  ourselves  and  had  not  been 
over-persuaded  by  the  innkeeper  to  take  the  long 
walk,  we  would  undoubtedly  have  been  more  en- 
thusiastic, but  as  it  was  we  decided  that  we  would 
rather  have  spent  the  day  wandering  about  in 
Kofu.  Even  the  unscalable  cliffs  took  on  sophis- 
tication from  the  well-worn  path  below,  which  pro- 
claimed that  the  view  had  been  the  conventional 
thing  for  centuries.  Despite  all  the  instruction 
which  the  innkeeper  had  given  us  about  distances 
and  direction,  he  had  escaped  correctness  in  every 
detail.  As  often,  there  was  no  information  ob- 
tainable from  the  heavily-laden  coolies  tramping 
along  the  way.  If  there  is  really  any  mystery 
which  separates  East  and  West  it  is  the  East's 
oblivious  indifference  to  time  and  space  and  our 
complete  inability  to  understand  the  working  of 
a  mind  which  has  over  and  over  again  been  on  a 
journey  and  yet  has  never  considered  it  suffi- 


274  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

ciently  worth  while  to  take  cognizance  either  of 
x  the  distance  or  the  hours. 

As  we  were  walking  over  the  flat  plain  to  the 
beginning  of  the  valley,  we  stopped  for  a  few 
minutes  to  watch  a  field  drill  of  the  conscript 
army.  It  was  a  very  hot  day,  but  the  uniforms 
seemed  designed  for  a  Manchurian  winter.  A  few 
of  the  men  had  fallen  out  of  the  ranks  from  ex- 
haustion. We  heard  later  that  during  that  hot 
week  in  one  of  the  provinces  some  officer  with  a 
new  theory  had  issued  an  order  against  the  drink- 
ing of  water  during  drill,  and  that  the  lives  of  a 
number  of  soldiers  had  been  sacrificed  to  sun- 
stroke. It  stirred  up  an  angry  scandal.  My 
knowledge  of  positive  thirst  would  have  made  me 
a  hanging  judge  if  I  had  sat  on  the  inquiring 
court-martial. 

We  walked  on  and  had  forgotten  the  drill  when 
four  or  five  men  and  a  panting  officer  overtook 
us.  They  entered  into  a  sharp  debate  with  Hori. 
Finally  they  dropped  behind  but  followed  us  until 
we  were  a  mile  away.  They  had  suspected  that 
we  were  Russian  spies. 

We  lingered  in  Kofu  for  several  days  but  at 
last  again  took  the  old  road  which  runs  through 
the  long  valleys  to  Tokyo.  This  trail  from  Kofu 
on  is  rather  closely  followed  by  the  railway  just 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL        275 

as  is  the  Tokaido  in  the  South.  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  was  in  honour  of  (or  in  disgust  at) 
all  such  modernities  that  feudal  Yedo  changed 
its  name  to  Tokyo.  The  capital  was  our  destina- 
tion and  we  had  intended  keeping  along  the 
direct  road  but  upon  a  whim  (and  a  look  at  the 
map)  we  suddenly  decided  to  climb  the  ridge 
between  us  and  Fuji-san,  and  then  to  encircle 
the  base  of  the  sacred  mountain  until  we  should 
find  again  the  Tokaido  which  we  had  forsaken 
at  Nagoya. 

It  was  at  the  moment  of  this  decision  that  the 
demon  bicycle  collapsed  utterly.  If  it  had  ac- 
quiesced to  the  change  of  route  it  would  have  had 
to  submit  to  being  carried  on  the  back  of  a  coolie. 
I  have  not  dared  to  record  all  the  subtle  ingenui- 
ties of  that  mechanical  contrivance  which  it  had 
concocted  from  time  to  time  to  achieve  its  ends. 
Its  soul  had  been  factoried  under  a  star  hostile 
to  human  dignity.  It  could  bring  about  a  loss 
of  face  to  the  most  innocent  who  crossed  its  path. 
It  had  the  pride  of  never  having  been  successfully 
outwitted,  and  its  soul  was  as  proud  as  the  soul 
of  Lucifer.  It  had  no  intention  of  submitting  to 
the  indignity  of  being  packed  on  a  coolie  nor  to 
have  the  world  see  it  with  its  wheels  wobbling 
idly  in  the  air.  In  desperate  determination  it 


276  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

committed  hara-kiri.  Its  suicide  was  heroically 
completed.  As  I  recorded  in  the  chapter  when 
the  bicycle  was  introduced,  Hori  gave  a  shining 
piece  of  silver  to  the  coolie  to  see  that  the  remains 
had  suitable  interment.  Peace  be  to  those  twisted 
spokes  and  to  that  jerry-contraptioned  frame! 

About  noon  we  found  a  man  with  a  horse. 
The  man  hired  himself  out  to  run  along  behind 
and  Hori  mounted  the  animal.  The  summit  be- 
tween us  and  Fuji  was  only  about  three  thousand 
feet  above  our  heads  but  as  we  continually  had 
to  go  down  into  deep  valleys  and  come  up  again 
our  gross  climbing  took  many  steps.  The 
thatched  villages  were  very  primitive,  and  the 
people  were  very  nude.  The  homes  which  clung 
desperately  to  the  edges  of  the  cliffs  must  have 
had  to  breed  a  special  race  of  children  to  survive 
tumbles,  just  as  in  the  villages  underneath  on 
the  shores  of  the  small  lakes,  they  must  have 
had  to  breed  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  float- 
ing. The  houses  of  those  peasants  were  as 
much  a  part  of  nature  as  are  birds'  nests,  and 
they  so  welded  themselves  into  the  unity  of 
the  view  from  the  ridges  that  we  did  not  even 
think  to  call  them  picturesque. 

Poor  Hori  had  not  a  moment  when  he  could 
sit  perpendicularly  on  his  steed.  The  road  was 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL        277 

either  a  scramble  or  a  slide.  Finally  he  dis- 
missed the  coolies  and  the  horse.  We  were  at 
the  beginning  of  a  path  which  was  built  in  sharp 
zigzags  up  the  side  of  the  mountain.  A  half- 
dozen  coolie  girls  with  huge  chests  strapped  on 
their  shoulders  stopped  at  a  spring  and  sat  down 
for  a  moment  to  fan  their  flushed,  pretty  faces. 
They  told  us  that  this  was  the  last  climb  but  they 
were  indefinite  about  the  remaining  distance  or 
the  time  that  it  would  take.  It  had  been  our 
plan  to  get  to  the  top  in  time  for  the  sunset  view 
of  Fuji  and  the  lakes.  Perhaps  the  demon  bi- 
cycle had  been  granted  one  last  diabolical  wish. 
We  were  within  a  few  feet  of  the  summit,  the 
air  was  seemingly  clear,  when  down  came  a  thick, 
wet  cloud  from  nowhere  at  all,  and  our  expec- 
tation for  the  crowning  glory  of  the  day  van- 
ished. 

All  the  way  down  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain the  fog  hung  over  us  but  it  lifted  when 
we  reached  the  shore  of  Lake  Shoji.  A  village 
straggled  along  the  water  edge.  We  knew  that 
across  the  lake  was  a  foreign  hotel,  but  if  we 
had  not  known  it  we  should  nevertheless  have  had 
some  such  suspicion.  From  the  attitude  of  the 
villagers  it  was  evident  that  we  had  traversed 
again  into  tourist  territory.  The  mild,  jocular 


278  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

incivility  of  the  natives  of  any  tourist  resort  any 
place  in  the  world,  except  when  there  is  some 
restraint  under  the  immediacy  of  employment, 
is  innate  and  needs  no  aggravation  for  its  flower- 
ing. We  were  tourists,  therefore  we  must  be 
imbecilic.  Derisive  hooting  followed  our  ears 
when  we  started  walking  around  the  lake  instead 
of  conventionally  taking  a  boat.  Between  the 
fog  on  the  mountain  top  and  our  reception  in  the 
village  we  were  somewhat  out  of  sympathy  with 
the  last  hour  of  the  day,  and  we  were  even  less 
happy  when  we  reached  the  hotel,  and  it  was 
brought  to  our  attention  that  we  had  failed  to 
remember  that  foreign  prices  prevail  at  foreign 
hotels.  True,  there  were  excellent  reasons  why 
the  charges  should  be  higher  than  at  the  native 
inns.  The  foreign  supplies  had  to  be  brought 
long  distances  on  coolie  back.  This  knowledge, 
however,  did  not  increase  the  number  of  yen  in 
our  pockets.  We  were  in  a  fitting  mood  for  turn- 
ing away  and  pushing  on  to  some  isolated  village. 
Such  a  mood  can  drive  a  good  bargain  and  the 
end  was  that  we  were  given  a  room  with  three 
iron  cots  at  a  minimum  charge.  I  must  pay  this 
tribute  to  that  iron  cot:  I  relaxed  on  its  springs 
in  an  abandonment  to  sleep  which  I  shall  never 
forget.  But  there  were  other  things  foreign 


O-SHIO-SAN  IN  THE  BOSEN-KA  INN  GARDEN. 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL        279 

which  were  not  so  pleasant.  To  have  to  wait 
until  eight  o'clock  for  a  formal  dinner  when  we 
were  accustomed  to  having  meals  served  at  the 
clapping  of  our  hands,  and  to  have  to  thump  over 
rough  board  floors  after  we  had  known  the  re- 
finement of  soft  matting,  and  to  have  to  endure 
all  the  other  half-achieved  attempts  at  foreign 
service — well,  "  going  native,"  as  the  Britishers 
say  in  final  judgment,  "  had  been  the  ruining  of 
us." 

Waiting  until  the  late  foreign  breakfast  hour 
in  the  morning  almost  numbed  the  cheerfulness 
that  had  risen  in  me  from  the  exhilarating  sleep 
on  the  luxurious  bed  of  springs,  but  the  day  was 
shining  in  such  perfection  when  we  found  an  un- 
frequented trail  north  of  the  chain  of  lakes,  and 
Fuji-san  was  resting  so  clearly  in  the  crystal 
air  across  the  pine  tree  plain,  that  we  quickly 
dumped  into  a  maw  of  forgetfulness  any  remem- 
brance of  such  mundane  annoyances  as  foreign 
hotels.  It  may  have  been  that  volcanic  gases  were 
breaking  through  the  clefts  in  the  rocks  and  that 
the  fumes  inspired  us  with  a  Delphic  madness; 
our  mood  became  ecstatic.  We  unburdened  our- 
selves of  wild  and  soaring  theories  of  art  and 
religion,  of  love  and  life — and  there  were  theories 
that  came  forth  which  we  had  never  dreamed 


280  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

existed  in  cosmos.  We  scattered  these  inspired 
words  in  wanton  waste  as  if  we  were  on  a  journey 
to  some  world  where  such  wealth  would  be  dross. 

The  town  which  we  found  for  the  night  was 
on  what  is  called  "  the  Shoji  route  around  Fuji." 
We  avoided  the  semi-foreign  hotel  but  that  did 
not  save  us  from  being  tourists.  The  native  inn 
had  ready  for  us  in  the  morning  a  bill  almost  twice 
as  large  as  it  should  have  been.  In  consequence 
we  added  no  "  tea-money."  If  we  had,  we  should 
have  gone  from  the  village  penniless.  In  all  our 
wandering  this  was  the  first  deliberate  overcharge, 
and  in  one  way  it  may  have  been  justified  in  the 
opinion  of  the  mistress.  She  had  probably  learned 
from  the  semi-foreign  hotel  across  the  street  that 
foreigners  know  not  the  custom  of  tea-money  and 
ignorantly  pay  only  the  bill  that  is  presented  with- 
out adding  a  suitable  and  proportionate  present. 

Truly  we  were  now  in  the  domain  not  only  of 
the  foreign  tourist  but  of  the  native  pilgrim  as 
well.  All  day  we  walked  through  the  towns  which 
serve  as  starting  points  for  the  different  routes  of 
ascent  for  Fuji.  It  was  the  height  of  the  season 
for  the  sacred  climb  and  the  towns,  purveying 
every  imaginable  necessity  and  souvenir,  had 
mushroomed  into  crowded  camps.  We  were  un- 
worthy guests.  As  far  as  our  purchasing  ability 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL        281 

was  concerned,  a  postcard  was  an  outside  luxury. 
When  we  reached  Gotemba  we  sat  down  for  a 
conference,  following  the  rule  of  "  when  in  doubt 
drink  a  pot  of  tea." 

By  rail  to  Yokohama  was  fifty-one  miles.  We 
had  leisurely  covered  about  twenty-five  miles  that 
day.  Even  if  we  should  make  ten  or  fifteen  miles 
more  before  night,  there  would  be  a  sufficiently 
long,  scorching,  penniless  day  to  come.  The 
country  was  not  new  to  us  as  we  had  both  tramped 
through  the  exploited  Miyanoshita  and  Kamakura 
districts.  "  Since  these  things  are  so,"  I  made 
argument,  "  let's  use  our  remaining  coppers  to  buy 
tickets  on  the  express  to  Yokohama."  As  no  one's 
pride  sufficiently  demanded  that  we  had  to  take 
the  fifty-one  miles  on  foot,  this  plan  was  our  final 
agreement. 

Our  linen  suits  were  perhaps  not  as  freshly 
laundered  as  those  of  the  other  haughty  seiyo-jins 
who  were  riding  on  the  first  and  second-class 
cars  of  the  train,  but  otherwise  our  poverty  did 
not  particularly  proclaim  itself.  We  walked  to 
our  hotel  in  Yokohama  and  took  rooms,  relying 
that  future  funds  would  come  out  of  the  letter 
which  was  supposedly  waiting  at  the  bank  for  me. 
In  the  meantime  in  the  bag  which  had  been  for- 
warded from  Nagoya  I  found  a  two-dollar  Ameri- 


282  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

can  bill.  This  gift  we  cashed  into  yen  and  sat 
through  the  evening  on  a  terrace  over  the  bund 
along  the  water  front,  sipping  forgotten  coffee 
and  ordering  long,  iced,  fresh  lemon  drinks.  A 
steamer  had  landed  that  day  and  at  the  next  table 
to  ours  was  a  charming  group  of  American  girls. 
They  were  filled  with  enthusiasm  for  the  exotic. 
The  soft,  evening  air,  the  passing  life  along  the 
street,  and  the  gay  tables  carried  me  back  to  my 
own  first  night  in  Japan,  which  had  been  spent 
eleven  years  before  on  that  very  terrace. 

The  hoped-for  letter  was  waiting  for  me  at  the 
bank.  The  amount  above  the  exact  sum  necessary 
for  my  steamship  ticket  had  been  intended  for  in- 
surance against  extras.  It  was  now  necessary 
for  mere  existence.  We  entered  into  an  infinite 
calculation  of  finance  down  to  the  ultimate  sen. 
Yokohama  was  no  place  for  economy  and  we 
shook  off  its  dust  for  that  of  Tokyo  and  were 
happy  again  in  a  native  inn.  With  our  linen  suits 
laundered,  we  called  on  old  friends  and  shopped 
betimes  on  credit.  It  was  a  rather  queer  sen- 
sation to  be  bargaining  for  luxuries  when  a  mere 
bona  fide  payment  of  a  'ricksha  charge  meant  a 
most  delicate  readjustment  of  our  entire  capital. 
Dealers  were  quite  willing  to  forward  boxes  to 
America  with  hardly  more  guarantee  than  our 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL        283 

promise  to  pay  sometime.  I  felt  that  if  we  were 
them  suddenly  for  ten  yen  in  cash  our 
credit  would  have  crashed  to  earth.  Nevertheless 
we  were  confident  of  our  dole  outlasting  our  needs. 
We  lived  our  moments  gaily.  We  saved  yen  to 
pay  the  inn  bill,  and  our  boat  was  scheduled  to 
sail  on  a  certain  day. 

Hori  was  determined  that  our  last  day  should 
be  worthy  and  memorable.  Through  friends  he 
arranged  that  we  should  meet  Count  Okuma,  the 
Premier  of  the  Empire.  We  had  made  most  of 
our  visits  about  the  city  on  foot,  and  on  one  of 
the  hottest  days  we  had  walked  the  round  trip  of 
a  dozen  miles  to  have  afternoon  tea  with  a  former 
Japanese  diplomat  to  America  and  his  family, 
trusting  that  his  sense  of  humour  would  forgive 
our  perspiration,  but  one  does  not  arrive  thus  at 
a  palace  door.  Great  was  the  excitement  at  the 
inn  when  'ricksha  men  were  called  and  our  desti- 
nation was  given  out.  We  dashed  away  and 
careened  around  the  corners  at  tremendous  speed. 
It  was  at  least  the  second  hottest  day  of  the  year, 
but  the  coolies  realized  that  they  were  part  of  a 
ceremony  and  that  their  duty  was  to  arrive  stream- 
ing, panting,  and  exhausted. 

Count  Okuma,  on  his  son's  arm,  entered  the 
small  reception  room  into  which  we  were  shown. 


284  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

(The  bullet  of  a  fanatic  shattered  the  bone  of  his 
leg  when  he  was  a  young  man.)  Count  Okuma 
is  almost  the  last  survivor  of  that  group  who 
directed  the  miracle  of  transforming  the  Japan 
of  feudalism  into  the  modern  nation. 

We  drank  tea  and  asked  formal  questions.  Fol- 
lowing some  turn  of  the  conversation — Count 
Okuma  was  speaking  of  loyalty — we  inquired,  as 
we  had  of  the  ancient  schoolmaster  of  Kama- 
Suwa:  "  Can  virtue  be  taught?  " 

The  expression  in  the  eyes  of  the  Premier's 
great,  handsome  head  had  been  passive  as  he 
had  acquiesced  in  what  had  been  said  up  to  that 
time.  Now  his  expression  became  positive.  He 
spoke  slowly  as  if  he  were  summing  up  the  be- 
lief and  experience  of  a  lifetime. 

"  When  Japan,  after  her  centuries  of  hermitage, 
had  suddenly  either  to  face  the  West  and  to  com- 
pete successfully  with  you,  or  to  sink  into  being  a 
tributary  and  exploited  people,  our  greatest  neces- 
sity in  patriotism  was  to  recognize  instantly  that 
in  the  physical  and  material  world  we  had  to  learn 
everything  from  you.  Our  social,  commercial,  and 
governmental  methods  were  suited  only  to  the  or- 
ganization of  society  which  we  then  had.  We 
discovered  that  your  world  is  a  world  of  com- 
merce and  competition;  that  the  achieving  of 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL        285 

wealth  from  the  profits  of  trade  demands  train- 
ing, efficiency,  ingenuity,  and  initiative.  Our 
civilization  had  not  developed  these  qualities  in 
us.  We  could  only  hope  that  we  had  latent  abil- 
ity. Furthermore,  observation  of  you  taught  us 
to  realize  the  value  of  physical  power.  We  saw 
that  mere  superior  cleverness  and  ability  in  the 
competition  to  live  is  not  sufficient  until  backed 
by  a  preparedness  of  force.  America  was  our 
great  teacher  and  we  shall  never  cease  to  be 
grateful.  In  the  physical  world  we  had  every- 
thing to  learn  from  you,  and  to-day  we  must  con- 
stantly remember  that  we  have  only  begun  to 
learn. 

"  It  was  our  overwhelming  task  to  begin  at  the 
beginning,  and  we  should  have  had  no  success  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  moral  qualities  of  the  Jap- 
anese people.  These  virtues  cannot  be  taught— 
merely  as  they  are  required.  They  are  the  spirit- 
ual and  moral  inheritage  from  the  past.  In  the 
avalanche  of  Western  ideas  which  came  upon  us,  it 
was  our  great  work  to  pick,  to  choose,  and  to 
adapt.  These  ideas  were  the  ideas  of  the  com- 
mercial world.  There  are  those  who  say  that 
Japan  in  taking  over  these  standards  of  material- 
ism relinquished  the  priceless  inheritance  of  its 
own  spiritual  life.  No!  We  have  had  every- 


286  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

thing  to  learn  from  you  in  methods,  but  that 
should  not  be  confused  with  spiritual  values.  I 
do  not  mean  mere  creeds  and  dogma,  but  to  the 
essence,  the  great  fundamentals  of  all  true  reli- 
gion. 

"  It  is  possible  that  sometime  in  the  future  the 
outside  world  may  discover  that  it  will  have  need 
to  come  to  us  for  the  values  that  are  ours  through 
our  great  moral  inheritance  of  loyalty.  In  a  ma- 
terial way  we  can  never  pay  back  to  you  our 
obligation  for  having  been  taught  your  material 
lessons.  But  it  may  be  that  Western  nations 
have  put  too  great  faith  in  materialism  and  that 
they  will  arrive  at  the  bitter  knowledge  that  the 
fruit  ol  life  is  death  unless  the  faith  of  men 
reaches  out  for  something  beyond  the  material. 
Then,  if  we  of  Japan  have  humbly  guarded  our 
spiritual  wealth,  the  world  may  come  to  ask  the 
secret  of  our  spiritual  values  as  we  went  to  you 
to  ask  the  inner  secret  of  your  material  values." 


XVI 

BEACH  COMBERS 

ON  the  morning  that  the  boat  was  to  sail  from 
Yokohama  we  were  up  as  soon  as  the  sun  first 
came  through  the  bamboo  shades.  We  exchanged 
presents  with  everyone  in  the  inn  and  then  walked 
away  to  the  station,  and  everyone  from  the  aris- 
tocratic mistress  to  the  messenger  boy  stood  wav- 
ing to  us  as  long  as  we  could  turn  back  to  see 
them.  Our  packages  and  presents  half 'filled  the 
car.  Hori  had  had  a  telegram  to  hurry  home. 
The  train  was  a  through  express  to  Kyoto  and 
we  said  " sayonara"  to  him  from  the  Yokohama 
platform. 

We  went  to  the  bank  and  I  exchanged  my  re- 
ceipt for  the  envelope  which  held  the  money  for 
my  steamer  ticket.  In  our  treasury  was  left  one 
last  Japanese  note  which  we  had  been  saving  as 
a  margin.  We  now  thought  it  was  safely  ours  to 
spend  as  we  might  choose.  We  went  to  find  some 
very  particular  incense  and  some  very  particular 
tea  which  a  Japanese  acquaintance  had  discovered 

287 


288  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

and  had  given  us  the  address  of.     We  plunged 
almost  to  the  limit  of  the  note. 

"Haven't  you  heard  that  your  boat  has  been 
held  up  forty-eight  hours  in  Kobe?"  asked  the 
steamship  agent. 

We  had  heard  no  such  news,  but  we  were  inter- 
ested. To  be  able  to  have,  when  one  might  wish 
to  make  the  choice,  the  gift  of  forty-eight  hours 
in  Japan  would  be  one  sort  of  a  blessing.  At 
that  particular  moment  the  prospect  had  compli- 
cations. Until  that  instant  our  system  of  finance 
had  been  the  pride  of  our  hearts.  We  had  cal- 
culated so  admirably  that  we  had  retained  just 
one  yen  for  porters'  fees  at  the  dock. 

O-Owre-sen  had  his  return  ticket.  "  Can't  I 
pay  for  my  ticket  in  part  by  cheque?  "  I  asked. 

After  consultation  in  the  inner  office  the  agent 
returned  and  announced,  "  No,  that  isn't  done." 

The  agent  and  his  advisers  thought  that  if  I 
should  happen  to  fall  overboard  there  might  be  a 
legal  complication  with  my  estate — if  I  happened 
to  have  an  estate. 

'  Your  records  show,"  I  argued,  "  that  my 
friend  has  crossed  on  your  line  three  times.  Dis- 
counting any  other  substantiality,  at  least  that 
proves  that  one  of  us  has  had  practice  in  not  tum- 
bling overside." 


BEACH  COMBERS  289 

Evidently  my  logic  was  at  fault.  From  the 
dubious  looks  that  came  across  the  desk  I  judged 
that  the  agent  was  thinking  that  such  fly-like 
pertinacity  of  sticking  aboard  a  vessel  was  sus- 
picious and  unnatural  in  a  passenger. 

'  Well,"  said  O-Owre-san  as  we  walked  away, 
"  you've  wondered  what  it  would  be  like  to  be 
an  amateur  beach  comber.  Now  is  your  admirable 
chance." 

O-Owre-san  seemed  lo  forget  that  he  was  in 
no  better  position  :hs^  was  I  in  regard  to 
funds. 

The  day  before  we  had  had  tea  with  the 
Premier  of  Japan.  Now  we  faced  forty-eight 
hours  of  starvation.  Our  horoscopes  evidently 
had  been  cast  that  we  were  to  be  beach  combers, 
the  admirable  chance  of  which  O-Owre-san  had 
suggested. 

We  did  not  deceive  ourselves  that  our  few  hours 
of  homelessness  made  us  professionals,  neverthe- 
less we  were  given  a  picture  impression  of  Yoko- 
hama that  could  only  have  been  bought  by  hunger 
and  sleeplessness.  We  saw  the  going  to  bed  of  the 
city,  and  we  saw  its  getting  up.  We  saw  Theatre 
Street  gay  with  lanterns  and  filled  with  merry- 
makers. Hours  later  we  saw  the  lanterns  go  out 
and  the  waiters  and  waitresses  come  forth  to  crowd 


290  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

into  the  public  baths.  We  walked  through  the 
glitter  of  the  street  which  winds  between  the 
houses  of  the  wall-imprisoned  Yoshiwara  district. 
There  is  but  one  entrance  to  this  district — a  long 
stone  bridge.  We  saw  that  bridge  again,  at  the 
hour  of  sunrise.  It  was  then  crowded  with  beg- 
gars and  loathsome  hangers-on,  waiting  to  impor- 
tune the  exodus.  Vice  by  grey  daylight  is  hor- 
rible, and  those  brilliant  palaces  of  the  night  be- 
fore bulked  in  a  row  of  dull  and  sinister  ugliness 
in  the  half  daylight.  Back  and  forth  we  ex- 
plored the  streets  of  the  city.  We  passed  a  for- 
eign sailors'  low  dive,  and  a  toothless  old  woman 
and  a  leering  youth  grabbed  at  our  arms  and 
invited  us  in.  They  spoke  phrases  of  English. 
There  was  wild  laughter  and  music  on  the  upper 
floor. 

Sometimes  the  hours  went  quickly,  sometimes 
they  lingered  interminably  with  no  seeming  rela- 
tion between  their  speeding  and  the  interest  of 
the  moment.  Sometimes  we  were  hungry  and 
sometimes  we  forgot  our  hunger.  We  found  a 
small  park  near  the  foreign  settlement  with 
benches  admirable  for  sleeping  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  diligence  of  the  sand  fleas  and  the  gnats. 
From  the  park  we  walked  down  along  the  bund 
and  on  the  promenade  facing  the  harbour  we 


SLOWLY  THE  HARBOR  OF  YOKOHAMA  WAS 
BEHIND  A  BRIGHTLY  GLISTENING  MIST 


•RTAINED  AND  DISAPPEARED 


BEACH  COMBERS  291 

found  two  seats.  A  Japanese  sailor  was  sitting 
on  one. 

We  wished  him  good-evening  and  shared  with 
him  our  cigarettes.  After  a  time  we  wandered 
away  to  walk  again  through  the  streets  of  the 
bright  lanterns.  We  had  been  refusing  'ricksha 
men  for  so  many  hours  that  the  guild  at  last 
seemed  to  remember  us  as  non-possibilities,  that 
is,  all  except  one  man  who  persisted  in  turning 
up  at  every  corner.  He  spoke  some  English  and 
had  a  new  suggestion  for  his  every  proposal.  If 
ever  a  coolie  looked  theatrically  villainous,  it  was 
that  coolie;  and  furthermore,  he  was  half -drunk 
from  cheap  sake.  Eventually  he  discovered  a 
companion  and  the  two  of  them  settled  down  at 
our  heels.  Whenever  we  hesitated  they  threw 
their  'ricksha  shafts  across  our  path.  They 
thought  that  we  were  officers  from  some  ship  and 
they  were  counting  upon  our  having  to  return 
before  the  four-o'clock  watch.  I  do  not  know  that 

officers  ever  do  have  to  return  at  that  hour,  but 

j 

the  coolies  were  sure  that  we  had  such  necessity. 
When  four  o'clock  came  they  were  mystified  and 
angry.  Until  then  they  had  rather  amused  us. 
We  now  told  them  to  be  off  and  we  walked  away 
into  the  quiet  streets.  They  still  persisted  in  their 
following.  We  tried  indifference  and  we  tried 


292  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

invective.  I  could  see  that  the  police  at  the  cor- 
ners were  watching  the  procession.  We  might 
have  appealed  to  them,  but  one  seldom  appeals  to 
the  police  in  a  foreign  land,  especially  in  Japan, 
if  there  is  any  question  of  time  to  be  considered. 
We  had  to  take  the  boat  the  next  morning.  We 
had  no  desire  to  be  ordered  to  report  the  next  day 
at  a  police  station;  and  for  the  matter  of  that,  I 
should  hardly  have  felt  like  criticizing  any  officer 
for  deciding  to  lock  us  all  up  together.  The  cool- 
ies might  have  appealed  that  we  had  hired  them 
and  had  not  paid  them.  Anyhow,  why  should 
two  foreigners  be  wandering  around  in  question- 
able districts  at  such  an  hour  of  the  night?  If 
there  had  to  be  a  settlement  with  our  pair  of  vil- 
lains, it  was  just  as  well  to  have  it  beyond  the 
eye  of  the  law. 

Our  next  move  was  melodramatic.  We  drew  a 
line  across  the  road  and  when  our  parasites 
caught  up  we  told  them  that  they  crossed  that  line 
at  their  peril.  Just  what  we  should  have  done  if 
they  had  crossed  the  line  I  have  no  idea.  We 
walked  along  pleased  with  the  result  of  our  ulti- 
matum until,  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  later,  I  hap- 
pened to  turn  around  and  again  saw  the  two  men, 
this  time  without  their  'rickshas. 

We  were  now  headed  toward  the  sea  front  by 


BEACH  COMBERS  298 

way  of  the  foreign  sections.  The  buildings  were 
absolutely  dark  but  there  was  an  occasional  street 
light.  If  there  were  any  watchmen  they  were 
within  the  walls.  We  had  walked  through  the 
narrow  streets  of  that  district  so  often  that  we 
remembered  the  turns.  We  felt  sure  that  the  men 
could  not  catch  up  with  us  except  from  behind. 
We  were  well  out  on  the  bund  before  they  came 
out  of  the  alley  that  we  had  left.  They  were  both 
carrying  sticks,  which  looked  like  'ricksha  shafts, 
and  the  second  man  had  a  knife. 

We  walked  along  toward  the  benches  where  we 
had  been  sitting  earlier  in  the  night.  Steamer 
lights  were  twinkling  on  the  harbour  and  O-Owre- 
san  pointed  out  our  ship  waiting  to  dock  at  sun- 
rise. Years  before  I  had  been  attacked  in  the 
streets  of  San  Francisco,  but  that  assault  had 
been  so  sudden  that  there  was  no  anticipatory  ex- 
citement. Our  Yokohama  anticipatory  reflection 
was  the  amusing  idea  that  if  the  knaves  should  at- 
tain the  triumph  of  searching  our  pockets  they 
would  have  a  most  disheartening  anti-climax 
after  all  their  evening's  trouble. 

Just  as  we  reached  the  benches  they  came  for 
us.  We  stepped  around  the  first  bench  to  break 
the  charge.  Outstretched  on  the  bench  was  our 
Japanese  sailor  whom  we  had  helped  out  with 


294  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

cigarettes.  He  may  have  been  asleep,  but  when 
he  jumped  to  his  feet  he  was  very  wide  awake. 
Without  waiting  for  particulars  he  whipped  out 
a  clasp  knife.  We  had  been  friends  and  this  was 
a  chance  to  even  up  his  obligation  to  us.  The 
two  coolies  stopped  as  if  they  had  run  against  an 
invisible  wire.  We  stood  facing  each  other,  and 
then,  as  stealthily  as  a  great  cat,  the  sailor  began 
moving  forward.  He  walked  very  slowly  but  he 
seemed  to  thirst  to  use  his  knife.  Even  with  three 
to  two,  I  felt  that  the  coolies,  half-drunken,  would 
have  tried  to  hold  their  ground  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  sailor's  uncanny  deliberation.  They  waited 
for  him  to  come  no  nearer.  They  fled.  We 
could  hear  them  running  long  after  the  darkness 
closed  them  in. 

We  tried  to  express  our  appreciation  to  the 
sailor  for  his  interest.  He  made  some  answer 
which  sounded  as  if  he  were  bored. 

One  place  and  another  we  had  found  a  little 
sleep  in  the  two  days  but  the  thought  of  a  soft, 
clean  steamer  bunk  began  to  form  itself  in  my 
brain  and  the  first  sign  of  the  sun  was  truly  wel- 
come. We  turned  back  to  the  city  for  one  last 
long  walk  over  the  heights.  The  town  was  sleepily 
waking  up.  The  streets  that  had  been  the  darkest 
in  the  night  were  now  the  busiest.  Our  walk 


BEACH  COMBERS  295 

ended  at  the  parcel  room  of  the  railway  station 
where  we  had  left  our  rucksacks.  The  boy  who 
was  sweeping  out  the  station  restaurant  allowed 
us  to  shave  and  scrub  behind  a  screen  and 
make  ourselves  somewhat  presentable  for  the 
boat. 

Our  luggage,  which  had  been  in  storage,  was  on 
the  dock  waiting  for  us.  O-Owre-san  thoroughly 
shook  the  linen  envelope  which  had  so  long  been 
our  treasury  but  the  yield  refused  to  increase 
beyond  three  silver  ten-sen  pieces.  I  once  saw  an 
Italian  in  Venice  fee  an  entire  hotel  line  with  a 
few  coppers.  He  accomplished  the  act  with  such 
graceful  courtesy  that  seemingly  the  servitors 
were  appreciative  of  the  spirit  of  the  giving  rather 
than  the  value  of  the  coins.  I  tried  to  distribute 
our  pieces  of  silver  to  the  porters  on  the  dock 
with  an  air  copied  from  my  remembrance  of  the 
Italian,  and  the  Nipponese  recipients  entered  into 
the  drama  with  sufficient  make-belief  to  have  saved 
our  faces  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  chill  in  the 
critical  eyes  of  two  English  sailors  standing  at  the 
gangplank.  The  implication  of  their  Anglo- 
Saxon  hauteur  was  that  it  might  be  satisfying  to 
the  heathen  in  their  darkness  to  weigh  in  with  the 
heft  of  compensation  such  useless  freight  as 
palaver  and  smiles,  but  as  for  them,  they  belonged 


296  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

to  a  civilization  preferring  less  manners  and  more 
substance. 

As  the  boat  swung  from  the  pier  and  open 
water  began  to  show,  a  man  came  running  down 
the  dock  waving  the  copy  of  a  cablegram.  "  Ger- 
many has  invaded  France  and  England  may  de- 
clare war,"  he  shouted.  Yes,  decidedly  our  days  of 
turning  back  the  clock  were  over.  We  were  no 
longer  ronins  wandering  in  feudal  Japan.  We 
had  left  the  Two-Sworded  Trails  and  were  back  in 
the  civilization  of  the  two  English  sailors. 

Slowly  the  harbour  of  Yokohama  was  curtained 
and  disappeared  behind  a  brightly  glistening  mist. 
I  stood  against  the  rail  trying  to  think  of  America 
and  Europe.  My  mind  had  that  illusory,  abnor- 
mal clearness  which  sometimes  follows  days  with- 
out sleep.  I  stood,  thinking,  thinking,  the  first 
beginning  of  that  agony  of  trying  to  add  a  cubit 
jfco  our  vision  by  thought. 


GLOSSARY  OF  JAPANESE  WORDS 


GLOSSARY  OF  JAPANESE  WORDS 


AKAMBO    . 
BENTO 

BUSHIDO      . 

DAIMYO 

FUROSHIKI 

GEISHA 

GETA   . 
HEI      .      . 

HlBACHI      . 
IlYE 

KEBUKAI    . 
KIREI  . 

KlSHA 

NE-SAN 
OBI       .      . 

O-HAYO 

RAMUNE    . 
RONIN 
SAKE    . 
SAMURAI    . 

SAYO    . 
SEIYO-JIN 


Infant 

Luncheon  Box  Sold  at  Railway  Sta- 
tions 

Code  of  Honourable  Conduct 

A  Noble  of  Old  Japan 

Large  Handkerchief  Used  for  Carry- 
ing Various  Objects  and  Packages 

Trained    Entertainers,   Singing   and 
Dancing  Girls 

Clogs 

Expression  of  Affirmation 

Brazier  for  Holding  Charcoal 

No 

Hairy 

Beautiful 

Local  Train 

Literally  "  Elder  Sister."    Maid 

Girdle  for  Kimono 

Good-morning 

Carbonated,  Bottled  Lemonade 

Unattached,  Wandering  Samurai 

Rice  Wine 

Military  Class ;  Retainers  of  Daimyo. 
(Feudal) 

Formal  "  Yes  " 

Foreigner 
299 


300  SAMURAI  TRAILS 

SEN      ....      Standard  Small  Coin  Equalling  One- 

half  Cent 

SHOGI         .      .      .      Sliding  Screen 
TABI    ....     A  Cloth  Compromise  Between  Shoes 

no  *«*  . 

^ 

YEN     ....      Currency  Standard,  Equalling  Fifty 

Cents 
O-YASUMI-NASAI     .      Good-night 


YADO-YA    .      .      .     Native  Inm, 


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